PICTURES 


THE    OLDEN    TIME, 


AS  SHOWN  IN  THE  FORTUNES  OF  A 


FAMILY   OF   THE   PILGRIMS. 


BY 


EDMUND    H.    SEAES. 
/J^^^^^^K 

TTinTEJRSITY 


"  "We  may  behold  -with  ancestral  eyes  not  only  the  various  actions  of  ages  past, 
and  the  odd  accidents  that  attend  time,  but  also  discern  the  different  humors  of 
men,  and  feel  the  pulse  of  former  tunes."  —  HOWELL. 


BOSTON: 
CROSBY,  NICHOLS,   AND    COMPANY. 

CINCINNATI:    GEORGE   s.  BLANCHARD. 

LONDON  :    SAMPSON  LOW,  SON,  AND  CO. 

1857. 


Entered  according  to  Act  of  Congress,  in  the  year  1856,  by 

CROSBY,    NICHOLS,    &    CO., 
in  the  Clerk's  Office  of  the  District  Court  of  the  District  of  Massachusetts. 


,  "-/^ 


CAM  BRIDGE: 

ELECTROTTPED  AND  PRINTED  BY  METCALP  AND  COMPANY. 


CONTENTS 


THE    EXILE       . 
THE   ADVENTURER 
THE    PILGKIM 


PAGE 
1 

135 

267 


INTRODUCTION. 


IT  would  be  difficult  to  say  to  what  class  of  liter 
ature  the  following  work  properly  belongs.  It  is 
neither  romance  nor  pure  history.  Nor  can  the 
tales  be  said  to  be  "  founded  on  fact,"  since  fact 
is  not  only  the  basis,  but  the  framework  and  sub 
stance,  of  the  whole. 

Some  time  since,  the  writer  became  possessed 
with  the  very  common  propensity  for  antiquarian 
and  genealogical  researches,  and  rather  unexpected 
ly  gathered  a  mass  of  materials  tending  to  illustrate 
family  history  and  genealogy  through  a  period  of 
three  hundred  years.  It  was  deemed  by  others 
of  some  importance  that  these  materials  should  be 
arranged  and  preserved  in  a  permanent  form.  But 
a  book  of  mere  genealogies  seemed  to  rne  the  most 
unedifying  of  all  performances.  The  question  soon 
occurred,  Why  not  put  flesh  upon  these  bones? 
Why  not  make  these  skeletons  live  ?  These  names, 


VI  INTRODUCTION. 

in  a  genealogical  table,  would  stand  for  nobody; 
and  yet  the  men  who  bore  them  acted  and  suffered 
through  the  most  interesting  periods  of  history,  and 
there  are  abundant  facts  to  show  what  sort  of 
connection  they  had  with  their  contemporaries.  I 
have  attempted,  therefore,  to  connect  the  current  of 
family  with  that  of  public  history,  and  to  show  how 
events  affected  not  only  public  men,  but  the  homes 
and  firesides  of  the  people ;  and  I  have  used  the 
links  of  a  genealogy  simply  as  a  continuous  chain 
on  which  to  hang  pictures  of  the  times  through 
which  it  extends.  Thus  I  have  attempted  to  show 
the  course  of  human  life  as  it  went  on  its  perilous 
way  behind  the  scenes  of  courts,  parliaments,  and 
battles,  and  to  bring  our  ancestors  before  us,  not 
in  their  shrouds  and  coffins,  but  as  they  lived  and 
talked  with  their  neighbors  and  servants,  then- 
wives  and  children.  In  order  to  do  this  more 
effectually,  I  have  in  the  first  two  of  the  following 
sketches  allowed  myself  a  small  margin  of  fancy, 
in  which  family  and  public  history  might  be  woven 
into  each  other  so  as  to  present  a  consistent  and 
perfect  whole.  But  I  have  always  done  this  in 
strict  subserviency  to  historical  truth,  and  the  facts, 
I  believe,  are  always  presented  in  better  perspec 
tive,  and  more,  therefore,  according  to  the  verity  of 
things,  by  reason  of  the  threads  of  fancy  by  which 


INTRODUCTION.  Vll 

they  are  woven  together.  In  Part  Third,  I  found  I 
did  not  need  any  aid  from  imagination,  and  I  have 
therefore  followed  the  course  of  simple  and  straight 
forward  narrative,  giving  a  view  of  domestic  life  in 
the  Old  Colony  in  the  days  of  the  Pilgrims. 

In  all  the  trials  and  sacrifices  of  our  ancestors  one 
thing  appears  prominent,  —  the  beauty  and  glory 
of  suffering,  when  endured  for  conscience'  sake. 
This  is  not  less  conspicuous  because  the  sufferers 
differed  in  faith,  —  some  being  Catholic  and  some 
Protestant ;  for  in  both  cases  alike,  obedience  to 
the  supreme  law  gave  a  heavenly  lustre  to  their 
example  and  a  sweet  fragrance  to  their  memories. 

Whoever  will  attempt  the  study  of  history  ac 
cording  to  the  method  indicated  in  this  work,  tak 
ing  some  family  tree,  —  it  matters  not  much  whose 
it  is,  —  and  making  its  branches  yield  the  fruits 
and  lessons  of  past  experience,  will  find  that  the 
study  has  a  fresh  and  absorbing  interest,  and  that 
the  track  over  which  it  leads  him  will  be  covered 
with  a  light  in  which  minute  objects  appear  with  a 
most  attractive  brightness. 

In  the  collection  of  facts,  I  have  been  aided  by 
the  researches  of  several  individuals  whose  names 
it  may  not  be  proper  to  mention  here ;  but  literary 
honesty  seems  to  require  a  distinct  acknowledg 
ment  of  the  kindness  of  the  Hon.  David  Sears  of 


Vlll  INTRODUCTION. 

Boston,  to  whom  I  have  been  indebted  for  many 
exceedingly  curious  and  interesting  documents. 

Part  Second,  or  the  sketch  entitled  "  The  Adven 
turer,"  narrates  events  and  transactions  in  the  Neth 
erlands,  with  which  the  reading  public  have  lately 
become  familiar  through  Prescott's  Philip  II.  and 
Motley's  Dutch  Republic.  It  lay  in  my  way  to 
show  the  bearing  of  those  wonderful  events  on 
family  fortunes,  but  I  had  finished  that  part  before 
either  of  the  above-named  admirable  histories  was 
published. 

The  writer  of  these  sketches  had  no  intention, 
when  he  commenced  them,  of  producing  them 
for  any  other  purpose  than  private  reading.  In 
intervals  of  more  severe  mental  labor  they  were 
studies  in  history  after  a  new  method,  —  that  of 
incarnating  and  galvanizing  old  skeletons.  The 
skeletons,  however,  leaped  up  with  so  much  life, 
that  a  part  of  them  have  been  dismissed  to  a 
more  unrestricted  circulation. 


PART     I. 


THE     EXILE. 


•  Good  Heaven !  what  sorrows  gloomed  that  parting  day 
That  called  them  from  their  native  walks  away, 
"When  the  poor  exiles,  every  pleasure  past, 
Hung  round  the  bowers  and  fondly  looked  their  last, 
And  took  a  long  farewell,  and  wished  in  vain 
For  seats  like  these  beyond  the  rolling  main, 
And,  shuddering  still  to  face  the  distant  deep, 
Keturned  and  wept,  and  still  returned  to  weep." 


CHAPTER    I. 

THE  MARTYRDOM. 

THE  Tower  is  one  of  the  first  objects  which  the 
eye  searches  after,  as  the  traveller  approaches  the 
city  of  London.  A  huge,  square  edifice,  with  tur 
rets  at  each  corner,  rises  above  a  pile  of  lower  build 
ings  and  smaller  towers  that  surround  it.  Around 
the  whole  pile  there  is  a  moat,  and  a  fortified 
wall,  at  whose  base  on  the  southern  side  flows  the 
Thames,  near  enough,  with  a  westering  sun,  to 
reflect  the  turrets  in  its  gentle  waves.  Outside  of 
the  fortified  wall,  and  not  a  great  way  from  its 
northwestern  angle,  the  ground  swells  into  a  small 
eminence,  which  bears  the  name  of  Tower  Hill,  the 
last  tragic  scene  of  many  a  drama  in  the  history  of 
England. 

As  soon  as  the  eye  rests  on  that  immense  pile  of 
buildings,  once  the  royal  residence  and  the  state- 
prison,  the  imagination  goes  back  through  the  long 
sweep  of  centuries,  and  represents  to  itself  the  woes 
that  have  found  utterance  within  those  gloomy  re 
cesses  without  falling  upon  a  human  ear.  What 
griefs,  what  unavailing  sighs,  have  those  walls  shut 


THE    EXILE. 


in,  and  what  a  history  would  they  give  of  hopes 
and  agonies,  could  all  the  sounds  be  re-echoed  that 
have  fallen  upon  the  impassive  stone ! 

There  are  two  principal  entrances,  one  at  the 
water's  edge,  on  the  southern  side,  called  "  Traitor's 
Gate,"  through  whose  frowning  archway  many  a 
person  of  gentle  blood  has  read  his  doom  before 
hand,  as  the  jaws  of  the  great  structure  closed  upon 
him  and  swallowed  him  from  the  hopeful  day. 
There  is  another  on  the  west,  called  "  Entrance 
Gate,"  which  opens  in  sight  of  Tower  Hill.  Around 
this  latter  gate  a  crowd  might  be  seen  gathering 
early  on  the  22d  of  June,  1535.  The  sun  rose  that 
morning  in  clouds  and  dark  vapors,  a  thing  not  by 
any  means  strange  in  the  city  of  London ;  but  it 
had  its  influence  on  the  imaginations  of  men,  who 
thought  the  sun  had  now  his  own  reasons  for  hid 
ing  his  face.  As  the  hours  advanced,  the  crowd 
came  pouring  in  thickening  streams  over  London 
Bridge,  and  down  the  streets  and  lanes  of  the  city, 
emptying  themselves  mainly  into  Tower  Street  and 
Thames  Street,  which  lead  to  an  open  view  of 
Tower  Hill,  until  the  two  latter  streets  were  choked 
entirely  full. 

The  hour  of  nine  had  come,  and  all  eyes  were 
bent  towards  Entrance  Gate.  Still  it  opened  not. 
There  stood  the  platform  on  Tower  Hill,  covered 
with  black,  but  the  victim  did  not  appear.  The 
man  most  concerned  in  all  this  solemn  preparation 
was  fast  asleep  within,  and  the  officials  were  wait 
ing  for  him  to  wake  up.  The  Lieutenant  of  the 
Tower,  who  by  the  way  was  Sir  William  Kingston, 


THE    MARTYRDOM.  D 

a  man  of  humane  feelings,  had  waited  upon  his 
prisoner  early  in  the  morning,  and  warned  him  to 
prepare  for  execution.  He  asked  permission  to 
sleep  awhile  first;  and  now  the  hour  had  come, 
and  the  crowd  were  waiting  breathless,  and  the 
prisoner  w^as  in  placid  repose.  It  seemed  hard  to 
Kingston  to  wake  him  from  such  peaceful  sleep, 
but  he  stepped  in  and  touched  him,  and  brought  him 
to  a  consciousness  of  the  waiting  scene.  He  arose 
and  dressed  himself  for  the  last  time.  There  was 
a  belief  in  those  days,  that,  when  in  doubt  or  trou 
ble,  one  might  open  the  Bible  at  venture  and  alight 
on  the  spot  suited  to  his  condition.  If  he  was  for 
saken  of  God,  some  awful  passage  would  come  up 
to  his  eye  and  tell  him  of  his  doom.  If  not,  some 
words  of  sweet  promise  would  present  themselves 
on  the  blessed  page.  The  "  sortition  by  the  Book," 
as  they  called  it,  was  a  fearful  rite  to  them,  for  their 
hopes  and  fears  trembled  upon  it.  The  prisoner, 
now  weak  with  long  confinement  and  privation, 
leaned  against  the  wall  with  his  Bible  in  his  hand, 
raised  an  imploring  look  to  heaven,  and  opened. 
These  words  came  up  to  his  eye :  "  This  is  life 
eternal,  that  they  might  know  thee,  the  only  true 
God,  and  Jesus  Christ  whom  thou  hast  sent.  I 
have  glorified  thee  upon  the  earth ;  I  have  finished 
the  work  which  thou  gavest  me  to  do."  He  shut 
the  book,  saying,  "  Here  is  learning  enough  for  me," 
and  gave  himself  into  the  officers'  hands.  While 
this  was  going  on  in  what  was  called  the  "  Bell 
Tower,"  a  low  circular  building  that  could  be  seen 
peering  above  the  wall,  the  crowd  had  continued  to 


D  THE    EXILE. 

gather  till  it  choked  nearly  every  avenue  leading  to 
Tower  Hill. 

Entrance  Gate  at  length  opened  on  its  slow 
hinges,  and  gave  the  prisoner  to  the  eyes  of  the 
multitude.  He  is  an  old  man  of  nearly  eighty 
years,  so  bent  down  with  infirmity  and  hardship 
that  he  has  to  be  borne  in  a  chair  between  two  con 
stables,  his  head  meekly  drooping,  and  his  scanty 
white  locks  streaming  down  his  shoulders.  It  re 
quired  a  good  deal  in  those  days  to  touch  the  heart 
of  a  London  mob,  but  now  a  shade  of  softness  ran 
over  that  sea  of  faces ;  and  instead  of  the  tumult 
and  the  coarse  jeering  that  usually  attended  on 
public  executions,  there  was  an  unbroken  and  fune 
real  silence.  The  ghastly  procession  of  halberds 
and  pole-axes  moved  on  to  Tower  Hill,  pausing  at 
the  foot  of  the  platform.  The  old  man  seemed  to 
have  new  strength,  as  he  looked  nearer  into  the  face 
of  death ;  for  he  now  stood  erect,  refused  the  aid  of 
the  constables,  and  walked  with  a  firm  step  up  the 
stairs.  Just  at  that  moment  the  sun  broke  from 
the  clouds  in  clearest  splendor,  and,  shining  athwart 
his  face  and  over  his  silvery  hairs,  made  him  seem 
to  the  multitude  as  if  already  transfigured  with  the 
resurrection  glories.  The  omen  arrested  his  atten 
tion  too,  for  he  lifted  his  hands,  with  kindling  fea 
tures,  and  said  to  himself,  "  Turn  to  Him  and 
be  enlightened,  and  your  faces  shall  not  be  con 
founded." 

It  was  soon  over,  and  the  multitude  broke  into 
squads  and  slowly  melted  away.  But  let  us  classi 
fy  them  a  little  as  they  retire,  and  we  shall  read  in 


THE    MARTYRDOM.  7 

their  faces  the  events  of  coming  history.  Doubtless 
the  dregs  of  London  had  emptied  themselves  into 
the  streets,  as  they  always  do  on  like  occasions, 
with  the  same  feelings  that  swayed  a  Roman  pop 
ulace  when  they  entered  the  amphitheatre.  But 
the  man  who  had  now  suffered  was  a  shining  mark 
of  tyranny.  He  was  the  most  learned  prelate  in 
England,  the  most  distinguished  among  the  bench 
of  bishops  in  the  House  of  Peers,  the  most  hon 
ored  friend  of  the  cause  of  learning,  and  withal 
the  ablest  defender  of  the  Catholic  Church.  He 
had  done  more  than  all  others  to  shut  out  from 
England  the  tide  of  Lutheranism  that  was  sweep 
ing  over  the  Continent.  The  reply  to  Luther  put 
forth  by  Henry  the  Eighth,  which  obtained  for 
the  King  the  title  of  "  Defender  of  the  Faith," 
was  supposed  to  be  written,  not  by  Henry,  but  by 
the  man  he  had  now  sent  to  the  block.  Though 
not  free  from  the  intolerant  principles  and  prac 
tices  of  his  Church,  he  was  a  man  of  benevolence 
and  piety,  of  gentle  manners,  joined  to  an  un 
bending  moral  uprightness.  The  King  had  broken 
with  the  Pope  because  the  latter  would  not  grant 
his  divorce  from  Queen  Katharine,  and  he  assumed 
to  be  the  Supreme  Head  of  the  Church  of  England. 
It  was  for  denying  that  supremacy  that  Bishop 
Fisher  had  now  suffered  on  Tower  Hill.  In  that  re 
tiring  crowd  were  large  numbers  of  Catholics  who 
denied  in  heart  what  the  Bishop  had  denied  both 
with  the  heart  and  lips,  and  whose  meditations  on 
the  present  aspect  of  things  were  mingled  with  a 
bitter  sense  of  bereavement  in  the  loss  of  their  ven- 


8  THE    EXILE. 

erated  prelate.  There  were  men  too  in  that  crowd 
who  had  swerved  from  Popery,  but  who,  in  the 
present  hubbub  and  ferment  of  opinions,  had  not 
come  clearly  into  anything  else,  and  who  would 
therefore  swear  allegiance  to  any  new  pope  rather 
than  encounter  the  dangers  of  martyrdom.  Prot 
estantism  had  not  yet  come  fairly  into  conscious 
life  among  what  would  be  called  the  upper  ranks 
in  England. 

But  there  was  another  class  of  men  who  mingled 
in  that  crowd,  whom  a  mere  casual  observer  would 
have  considered  the  most  insignificant  of  all,  but 
who  proved  far  otherwise  in  the  progress  of  events. 
They  were  the  men  who  wore  fagots  on  their 
sleeves.  Here  and  there,  sprinkled  through  that 
crowd,  were  persons,  found  chiefly  among  the  me 
chanics  and  laborers  who  had  come  in  from  the 
surrounding  country  or  emerged  from  the  lower 
strata  of  London  life,  who  wore  badges  which  had 
a  significance  that  tyrants  could  not  understand. 
In  the  right  sleeve,  wrought  in  red  colors,  was  the 
image  of  a  burning  fagot,  that  those  who  wore  it 
might  have  the  fear  of  temporal  and  eternal  flames 
ever  before  their  eyes.  These  were  the  "  Lollard s," 
who  had  been  once  convicted  and  pardoned;  and 
they  had  this  hideous  symbol  bound  upon  them, 
that  all  observers  might  take  note  of  them  as  living 
fuel  for  the  Smithfield  fires  whenever  they  should 
relapse  into  heresy.  They  were  thus  marked  out 
to  be  despised  and  watched  by  all  men,  and  then- 
words  were  weighed  in  the  nicest  theological  scales. 
It  may  well  be  conceived  that  their  words  were 
very  few,  while  their  thoughts  were  very  many. 


THE    MARTYRDOM.  9 

The  men  who  wore  fagots  were  pretty  well  repre 
sented  at  the  scene  of  Fisher's  execution;  they 
looked  on  without  speaking,  —  hard-handed  and 
hard-featured  men  who  had  a  "lean  and  hungry 
look,"  who  did  not  always  "sleep  o'  nights,"  and 
who  kept  up  a  thinking  which  fagots,  whether  of 
red  worsted  or  of  blazing  twigs,  could  not  entirely 
subdue.  Fisher  was  the  first  martyr  of  note  on  the 
Catholic  side  in  what  was  called  the  English  Ref 
ormation,  and  hence  the  strange  interest  which  had 
drawn  people  of  all  classes  and  opinions  to  the 
scene.  The  Lollards  were  considered  the  most 
despicable  element  in  the  crowd ;  and  yet  out  of  the 
thinking  going  on  silently  within  them,  Puritanism, 
clad  in  steel,  was  by  and  by  to  come  forth  and 
upheave  the  throne  of  England. 

But  there  was  another  element  in  that  crowd 
which  we  have  more  distinctly  to  trace.  There 
were  men  who  were  saved  from  Fisher's  doom  as 
yet  only  because  he  was  the  most  conspicuous  mark 
for  the  stroke  of  tyranny;  who  held  his  opinions, 
and  who  came  to  see  how  a  man  supported  by 
them  could  die.  They  saw  in  the  dim  future,  that 
the  hour  was  coming  on  when  they  must  weigh  a 
good  conscience  against  the  dross  of  earth,  and  de 
termine  which  was  worth  the  more ;  and  it  must 
have  been  with  a  silent .  thrill  of  admiration  that 
they  saw  their  good  prelate,  faithful  to  his  opinions, 
turning  the  pall  of  the  scaffold  into  a  scene  of  vic 
tory.  But  there  was  one  man  in  the  crowd  who 
had  a  strange  personal  interest  in  the  transactions  of 
that  morning,  and  whose  history  we  have  specially 
in  hand. 


CHAPTER    II. 

THE  MEN  OF  KENT. 

THE  County  of  Kent  is,  and  ever  has  been,  one  of 
the  best  and  most  thriving  districts  of  Old  England. 
Its  northern  border  is  washed  by  the  Thames  and 
its  estuaries  ;  its  southern  and  southwestern  by  the 
Straits  of  Dover,  where  it  advances  so  boldly  to 
wards  the  Continent  that  "  the  men  of  Kent "  can 
look  over  into  their  neighbors'  country  and  see  the 
shore  of  sunny  France  lying  like  a  soft  blue  cinc 
ture  on  the  distant  waves.  Two  parallel  ridges  of 
hills  traverse  the  district  from  east  to  west,  sepa 
rated  from  each  other  by  a  breadth  of  about  eight 
miles.  From  the  northern  range  the  country  slopes 
towards  the  Thames  and  its  estuaries;  from  the 
southern  range  it  slopes  southward  towards  France, 
and  more  than  once  has  bristled  defiance  towards 
its  neighbor  over  the  Channel.  If  you  stand  on 
the  summit  of  this  southern  range,  which  they  call 
"The  Rag-stone,"  and  look  southward,  your  eye 
commands  a  prospect  of  surpassing  loveliness  and 
beauty.  This  southern  slope  was  once  an  im 
mense  forest  of  oak.  Of  course  the  forest  has 


THE    MEN    OF    KENT. 


11 


been  cleared  away;  but  it  is  still  a  region  of  oak 
groves  interspersed  with  fields  covered  with  all  the 
richness  of  art  and  nature.  The  houses,  seats,  vil 
lages,  gardens,  and  farms  of  smooth-shaven  green, 
appear  among  large  and  towering  oaks,  and  they 
gleam  out  from  the  foliage  like  gems  of  white 
ness  and  verdure  set  irregularly  in  a  framework  of 
fringing  leaves.  Kent  is  the  only  county  in  all 
England  whose  lands  are  held,  as  the  lawyers  say, 
"by  the  tenure  of  gavelkind"  —  that  is,  where  there 
is  no  right  of  primogeniture  unless  specially  estab 
lished  by  law,  and  where  the  father's  estate  is  di 
vided  in  equal  portions  among  his  sons.  Owing  to 
this,  and  to  the  native  goodness  of  the  soil,  Kent  is 
one  of  the  best  farming  districts  in  England ;  its 
estates  are  small  in  extent,  but  under  the  highest 
cultivation,  and  "  the  men  of  Kent  "  have  been 
known  as  men  not  of  artificial,  but  native  nobility, 
and  of  indomitable  vigor  and  hardihood.* 


*  "Wordsworth's  Sonnet,  written  in  view  of  a  threatened  invasion 
from  France,  may  occur  to  the  reader  in  this  connection. 

TO   THE  MEN   OF  KENT. 

Vanguard  of  Liberty,  ye  men  of  Kent, 

Ye  children  of  a  soil  that  doth  advance 

Her  haughty  brow  against  the  coast  of  France, 

Now  is  the  time  to  prove  your  hardiment ! 

To  France  be  words  of  invitation  sent ! 

They  from  their  fields  can  sec  the  countenance 

Of  your  fierce  war,  may  ken  the  glittering  lance, 

And  hear  you  shouting  forth  your  brave  intent. 

Left  single,  in  bold  parley,  ye  of  yore 

Did  from  the  Norman  win  a  gallant  wreath  ; 


12  THE    EXILE. 

If  you  stand  on  the  northern  range,  called  "  The 
Chalk  Ridge,"  and  look  towards  the  Thames,  a 
different  prospect,  but  not  less  pleasing  and  finely 
diversified,  lies  under  your  eye.  Away  on  the  ex 
treme  left  you  see  the  city  of  London,  provided  the 
smoke  and  the  fog  do  not  fold  it  in  a  veil  too  thick 
to  be  broken  through.  Down  this  northern  slope 
are  lands  of  fertile  loam,  on  which  broad  acres  of 
pease,  beans,  barley,  and  the  finest  wheat,  are  luxu 
riantly  waving.  Through  the  middle  of  this  slope 
runs  the  river  Medway,  draining  it  by  its  tributary 
rills,  curving  round  to  the  right,  and  finally  losing 
itself  in  one  of  the  estuaries  of  the  Thames.  Down 
to  the  shore  of  the  Thames  are  scattered  villages 
and  farm-houses,  surrounded  with  cherry  and  plum 
orchards,  and  various  other  fruit-trees,  to  supply  the 
London  market. 

Near  the  mouth  of  the  Medway,  and  on  its  right 
bank,  stands  the  ancient  city  of  Rochester,  and 
stretching  along  the  shore  of  the  estuary,  and  form 
ing  a  settlement  continuous  with  Rochester,  lies  the 
city  of  Chatham.  In  the  former  place  are  an  old 
cathedral,  an  ancient  castle,  now  nearly  in  ruins, 
both  invested  with  rich  historic  associations,  and 
various  schools,  some  of  them  founded  ages  ago, 
and  celebrated  from  the  earliest  times. 

Adam  Sayer  was  one  of  "the  men  of  Kent"  as 
early  as  the  year  1300  or  soon  after.  He  died  pos- 

Confirmed  the  charters  that  were  yours  before  ;  — 
No  parleying  now  !     In  Britain  is  one  hreath ; 
We  all  are  with  you  now  from  shore  to  shore  :  — 
Ye  men  of  Kent !  't  is  Victory  or  Death  ! 


THE    MEN    OF    KENT.  13 

sessed  of  an  estate  in  Chatham  in  the  year  1346,  and 
his  descendents  in  collateral  branches  spread  over 
the  district  in  various  directions,  and  sometimes  be 
yond  its  limits.  One  of  them  became  the  warden 
of  Rochester  castle.  One  crossed  over  the  Thames 
into  Essex,  and  he  and  his  descendants  became  pro 
prietors  of  large  estates  in  Colchester  and  its  neigh 
boring  towns.  It  must  have  been  about  the  year 
1520  that  the  boy  Richard  Sayer  came  over  from 
Colchester,  drawn  towards  his  kinsfolk  in  Kent  for 
the  benefit  of  the  Rochester  schools.  Then  more 
than  now  the  benefits  of  learning  accumulated  in 
favored  places.  The  see  of  Rochester  was  the  charge 
of  the  learned  and  venerable  prelate  whose  life  we 
have  just  seen  brought  to  its  tragic  close  on  Tower 
Hill.  He  was  promoted  to  this  bishopric  in  the  year 
1504,  and  now  for  sixteen  years  he  had  been  the 
liberal  patron  of  learning  in  this  spot  to  which  his 
affections  had  drawn  him.  Various  other  honors  had 
been  heaped  upon  him  ;  he  had  been  appointed 
Professor  of  Divinity  at  Cambridge  and  Chancellor 
of  the  University,  but  here  in  the  pastoral  walks  of 
his  diocese  he  passed  his  most  pleasurable  hours. 
They  offered  him  afterwards  a  more  valuable  bish 
opric,  but  he  declined  it.  "  My  church,"  said  he,  "  is 
my  wife,  and  I  will  never  exchange  her  for  one  that 
is  richer  " ;  and  so  up  to  the  time  that  the  Traitor's 
Gate  closed  upon  him  he  continued  to  lavish  his 
affections  on  this  quiet  spot  hid  in  the  blooming 
vales  of  the  Kentish  hills. 

We  know  nothing  very  definite  of  the  on-goings 
of  the   boy  Richard  in  the   schools  of  Rochester. 


14  THE    EXILE. 

We  judge  from  the  family  traits  and  pictures  that 
he  was  a  sturdy-looking  boy,  with  sandy  locks,  a 
florid  face,  and  a  sanguine  temperament,  and  we 
should  not  wonder  if  the  Rochester  schoolmasters 
had  to  keep  an  open  eye  upon  him.  We  are  pretty 
certain  in  saying  that  he  rambled  on  the  banks  of  the 
Medway  and  forded  its  waters,  that  he  climbed  the 
Chalk  Ridge  and  took  in  unfading  impressions  of 
the  scenery  beneath,  that  he  sometimes  trampled  the 
wheat-fields  and  roused  the  maledictions  of  the 
Kentish  farmers.  What  religious  impressions  he 
got  in  the  old  cathedral,  events  perhaps  will  show. 
He  was  among  the  boys  who  followed  the  good 
Bishop  and  "  plucked  his  gown  "  in  order  to  "  share 
his  smile."  The  face  of  the  benevolent  prelate  got 
brightly  imaged  upon  his  memory.  We  are  not 
surprised  at  this.  We  are  looking  into  that  face 
now  as  Holbein  has  copied  it,  and,  spite  of  the 
slanders  of  Burnet,  we  must  pronounce  it  an  honest 
face  and  a  kindly  one,  and,  though  slightly  austere, 
yet  one  which  little  children  might  be  glad  to  look 
into  and  copy  into  their  hearts. 

Richard  Sayer  returned  home  to  his  father's  house 
in  Colchester,  where  he  grew  up,  the  elder  of  two 
brothers,  the  legal  heir  to  a  large  estate,  of  which, 
in  the  ordinary  course  of  events,  he  would  come  in 
possession  at  his  father's  death.  We  pass  over  the 
intervening  years,  till  we  find  him  in  the  throng 
that  gathered  in  sight  of  Tower  Hill  on  the  morn 
ing  of  June  22d,  1535.  What  brought  him  up  to 
London  ?  Something  more  than  the  tender  recol 
lections  of  childhood,  and  the  benignant  and  treas- 


THE    MEN    OF    KENT.  15 

ured  image  of  the  Bishop  of  Rochester,  though 
doubtless  these  abode  with  him  now  that  fifteen 
years  had  passed  away.  He  is  now  twenty-five 
years  old,  and  the  most  eventful  period  of  Eng 
land's  history  is  opening  its  fearful  drama.  Great 
calamities  are  said  to  fling  their  shadows  on  before 
them,  and  this  man  felt  the  gloom  of  corning 
events  growing  deeper  and  deeper  upon  his  spirit. 
He  thought  by  coming  up  to  London  he  should 
find  out  something  more  sure  and  reliable  touching 
the  prognostics  of  the  coming  storm.  He  was 
strongly  attached  to  the  old  religion,  into  which  he 
had  been  baptized  and  confirmed.  To  understand 
his  position,  let  it  be  observed  that  in  the  month  of 
March,  1534,  the  English  Parliament,  as  the  tools 
of  Henry,  authorized  a  new  oath  of  allegiance,  de 
claring  the  King's  first  marriage  null  and  void,  Mary, 
the  issue  of  it,  to  be  excluded  from  the  succession, 
and  the  children  of  Ann  Boleyn  the  legal  heirs 
of  the  throne.  The  same  servile  Parliament  had 
declared  the  King  the  Supreme  Head  of  the  Church, 
and  made  the  denial  of  that  supremacy  high  trea 
son.  The  new  oath  of  spiritual  allegiance  was  en 
joined  on  ah1  English  subjects.  Hence  the  peril  to 
true  Catholics.  Perjury  lay  on  one  hand,  and  the 
scaffold  or  Tyburn  on  the  other.  And  Richard 
Sayer  was  brought  to  the  metropolis  in  the  vague 
expectation  that  some  way  of  relief  would  be 
opened  to  him;  and  hence  he  is  drawn  into  that 
vortex  of  life  that  is  whirling  through  the  streets 
of  London. 

It  may  well  be  conceived,  that  what  he  has  just 


16 


THE    EXILE. 


witnessed  does  not  soothe  his  apprehensions.  The 
multitude  have  broken  up  into  little  knots,  and,  as 
they  melt  away  one  by  one,  the  name  of  "  the  her 
etic  Nan,"  with  many  a  vile  and  degrading  epithet, 
is  found  half  suppressed  on  the  lips  of  the  popu 
lace  ;  for  to  the  pretty  face  and  the  corrupting  arts  of 
the  new  Queen  they  ascribed  the  present  troubles 
and  the  lowering  storm.  The  "new  Herodias" 
was  another  of  the  flattering  titles  which  were  ban 
died  about  in  undertones.  Somebody  had  com 
mended  her  graceful  dancing  at  Whitehall.  "  I 
tell  you,"  replied  another,  "  that  in  her  dances  her  feet 
will  spurn  off*  our  heads  like  footballs."  But  the 
crowd  have  all  melted  away,  and  night,  more  still 
and  awful  than  ever,  has  come  down  and  hushed 
the  street  murmurs  and  noises,  and  there  is  little 
that  is  audible  but  the  ripples  of  the  Thames.  The 
King  and  the  new  Queen  have  finished  their  last 
game  at  tables,  and  sleep  in  the  palace  at  Green 
wich,  and  Fisher  sleeps  in  eternal  peace,  though 
tumbled  without  shroud  or  coffin  into  his  cold  and 
bloody  grave. 


CHAPTER    III. 

LEGAL  ADVICE. 

IN  the  times  of  which  we  write,  London  and 
Westminster  could  hardly  be  called  a  single  city. 
Westminster  was  originally  a  town  lying  farther 
up  the  Thames  and  three  miles  west  of  the  city. 
Between  the  two  lay  "  The  Strand,"  a  low,,  marshy 
ground,  through  which  three  sluggish  streams  wound 
their  sedgy  \vay  into  the  Thames.  But  the  city 
and  the  town  gradually  spread  out  to  meet  each 
other,  and  now  the  Strand  was  partly  filled  up. 
It  had  already  become  a  continuous  street,  a  great 
thoroughfare  between  the  city  and  the  West  End. 
rOn  the  south  side  of  it  splendid  edifices  had  arisen, 
in  the  rear  of  which  were  parks  and  gardens,  terraced 
down  to  the  water's  edge ;  and  on  the  north  side 
were  shops,  churches,  and  residences.  Among  other 
buildings  is  "  St.  Clement's  Inn,"  the  resort  of  law 
yers  and  clients,  to  be  immortalized  by  Shake 
speare  as  the  home  of  Master  Shallow  in  his  tem 
plar  days.  The  entrance  to  it  is  through  a  noble 
archway  with  lofty  columns,  and  in  the  rear  of  it 
is  —  not  the  bowling-alley,  where  the  hangers-on 


18  THE    EXILE. 

of  modern  inns  go  to  kill  off  the  lazy  hours,  but  — 
the  bear-garden;  the  place  whose  hideous  spectacles 
were  among  the  amusements  in  the  times  of  Henry, 
and  which  served  both  to  minister  to  popular  taste 
and  infuse  into  it  a  spirit  of  brutality  and  cruelty. 
Justice  Shallow  had  not  yet  taken  up  his  abode  at 
St.  Clement's  Inn,  but  a  man  was  there  a  good  deal 
more  shrewd  and  subtle  than  he.  He  was  well 
known  to  the  Colchester  Sayers,  for  he  had  been 
their  agent  in  drawing  up  wills  and  title-deeds  and 
managing  suits  in  chancery,  and  whatever  legal 
instrument  he  made  out  was  pretty  sure  to  be  free 
from  flaws.  He  was  a  high-toned  Papist,  had 
threaded  all  the  sinuosities  both  of  the  canon  and 
the  civil  law,  had  large  property  at  stake,  and  was 
therefore  averse  to  change,  and  we  presume  would 
have  rejoiced  in  his  secret  heart  to  have  had  the 
last  shred  of  Lutheranism  turned  into  a  blaze  in 
Smithfield  Square.  He  was  the  very  man  for  Rich 
ard  to  consult  in  the  troubles  that  weighed  upon 
him,  especially  as  he  supposed  him  to  stand  in  the 
same  slippery  place  as  himself.  After  the  scene  of 
the  22d,  as  soon  as  he  could  sufficiently  recover  his 
spirits,  his  resort  was  to  St.  Clement's  Inn.  He  was 
yet  a  young  man,  and  in  the  simplicity  of  his  heart 
expected  to  find  Lawyer  Leach  somewhat  troubled 
at  least  in  respect  to  his  temporal  interests. 

He  was  mightily  mistaken.  Lawyer  Leach  was 
in  as  comfortable  a  frame  of  mind  as  could  well  be 
imagined.  It  was  very  evident  he  had  not  been 
broken  of  his  rest.  His  face  was  round,  rubicund, 
and  beaming ;  though  the  top  of  his  head  was  bald, 


LEGAL    ADVICE.  19 

and  shone  like  polished  ivory,  and  withal  was  rather 
flat,  his  hair  laterally  lay  back  sleek  and  smooth, 
his  person  was  full  arid  rotund,  and  evidently  had  no 
idea  of  renouncing  those  two  creature  comforts  of 

O 

all  true  Englishmen,  roast  beef  and  London  beer. 
Though  rather  portly,  he  had  such  a  look  of  refresh 
ing  coolness  that  it  would  be  a  privilege  to  contem 
plate  him  in  a  hot  summer's  day.  It  was  doubly 
refreshing  now  to  Richard,  for  it  inspired  him  with 
confidence,  and  he  had  not  a  doubt  that  Lawyer 
Leach  had  the  secret  of  safety.  A  nature  so 
smooth,  elastic,  and  oily  could  certainly  glide  be 
tween  two  impinging  religions  without  being  ground 
to  powder  between  them.  He  laid  before  him  his 
whole  case. 

Lawyer  Leach  looked  towards  the  ceiling  and 
squinted  with  his  left  eye,  his  usual  expression 
whenever  with  his  other  eye  he  was  taking  exact 
aim  at  some  legal  nebulosity,  which  under  his  keen 
gray  twinkle  was  sure  to  be  resolved  in  less  time 
than  were  the  nebulae  of  Orion  by  the  new  tele 
scope. 

"  They  can't  make  it  treason,"  said  he  ;  "  treason 
by  the  new  statute  is  a  denial  of  the  King's  su 
premacy." 

"  And  is  not  refusing  to  take  the  oath  a  denial  of 
the  King's  supremacy." 

"  No,  sir,  —  not  in  the  sense  of  the  statute.  To 
make  out  treason,  they  must  prove  some  overt  acf. 
Holding  your  tongue  is  not  treason,  —  doing  noth 
ing  is  not  treason,  —  keeping  still  is  not  treason." 

"  But  suppose  I  refuse  to  subscribe  the  oath,  what 
will  they  make  of  it  ?  " 


20  THE    EXILE. 

"  That  is  only  misprision  of  treason." 

"  And  what  is  the  punishment  ?  " 

"  Imprisonment  and  confiscation  of  goods." 

"  Then  how  could  they  send  Fisher  to  the  block  ?  " 

"  He  did  n't  keep  his  tongue  in  his  head.  He 
did  n't  understand  men  as  well  as  he  might.  The 
Pope  sent  him  a  cardinal's  hat,  and  the  King  swore 
he  should  n't  have  a  head  to  put  it  on.  They 
baited  him  with  flatteries,  and  set  these  purring  and 
velvet-pawed  fellows  about  him,  till  they  wormed 
the  treason  out  of  him  and  caught  it.  Keep  your 
tongue  still,  especially  when  these  soft-eyed  mo  users 
are  smelling  about  you." 

"  Then  I  am  only  in  danger  of  imprisonment  and 
loss  of  goods.  Do  you  see  any  way  to  escape  that 
danger  ?  " 

"  Certainly  there  is  a  way." 

"  And  how  is  that  ? "  said  the  client,  clutching 
eagerly  at  his  sinking  hopes  and  bringing  them  up. 

"  Subscribe." 

"  What !  commit  perjury  to  save  my  property  ? 
Incur  the  penalties  of  eternal  damnation  to  escape 
the  penalties  of  the  law  ?  " 

A  bland  smile  ruffled  the  florid  smoothness  of 
the  casuist's  face,  and  his  left  eye  squinted  again. 
"  You  do  not  distinguish  between  the  res  in  animo 
and  the  res  acta.  You  may  withhold  your  entire 
inward  consent  to  what  you  are  compelled  to  do 
under  duress,  and  so  the  act  has  no  validity  what 
ever  in  the  court  of  conscience.  Thus,  though  you 
subscribe  with  the  hand,  you  keep  your  whole  in 
ward  mind  and  conscience  from  the  deed.  Thus  it 


LEGAL    ADVICE.  21 

is  the  mere  act  of  the  outward  man,  not  of  the  me-ns 
casta  penitus,  which  is  preserved  entire,  and  has 
nothing  to  do  with  the  outward  transaction.  This 
distinction  is  vastly  important,  especially  in  these 
times  of  sudden  changes." 

"  I  do  not  think  I  fully  understand  you,"  said  the 
client,  who  had  not  been  initiated  into  the  deeper 
mysteries  of  Popery,  and  never  read  the  works  of 
the  Schoolmen.  "  If  I  subscribe  that  oath,  it  is  flat 
perjury,  and  I  shall  have  its  load  to  weigh  down  my 
conscience  as  long  as  I  live." 

"  Why,  sir,  don't  you  believe  in  the  supremacy 
of  the  Catholic  Church  ?  "  said  the  casuist,  leading 
off  upon  another  track. 

"  Certainly,  and  therefore  I  can't  subscribe  the 
oath." 

"  But  what  is  meant  by  the  supremacy  of  the 
Catholic  Church,  but  that  she  has  the  sovereign  keep 
ing  of  the  consciences  of  men,  and  the  sovereign 
power  in  their  salvation  ?  I  would  n't  belong  to  a 
church  in  whose  bosom  I  could  n't  rest  in  perfect 
peace,  feeling  she  had  the  high  prerogative  of  for 
giveness, —  who  could  n't  shrive  me  from  my  sins, 
whether  great  or  small.  That  is  the  advantage  of 
the  Catholic  Church  over  this  upstart  Lutheranism, 
which  has  no  power  to  save  its  children  either  from 
temporal  or  eternal  fire.  Must  I  be  roasted  like  a 
Lollard,  when  my  Church  has  the  supreme  power 
to  shrive  and  to  save  me  ?  I  shall  subscribe,  not 
doubting  she  will  save  me  from  damnation." 

"  Do  you  think,  then,  that  the  Pope's  adherents 
will  generally  subscribe  ?  " 


22  THE    EXILE. 

"  Not  the  least  doubt  of  it.  They  will  come  in 
by  thousands." 

"But  I  will  wait  and  see.  I  will  keep  my  lips 
sealed,  and  my  life  will  be  safe  at  any  rate." 

"  Don't  be  too  confident,"  said  the  lawyer,  lower 
ing  his  tone,  and  looking  cautiously  towards  the 
door;  "that  hound,  Audley,  is  on  the  bench,  and 
he  '11  do  anything  his  master  sets  him  on  to  do. 
But  wait  and  see  how  things  will  turn.  More's 
trial  will  be  on  the  1st  of  July,  and  men  are  wait 
ing  the  issue  of  that.  There  may  be  some  hope  in 
a  jury,  and  if  anybody  can  inspire  them  with  cour 
age  it  is  More.  His  defence  will  be  gallant  and 
splendid  ;  the  crown  lawyers  are  afraid  of  him,  and 
people  are  holding  their  breath  till  the  trial  comes. 
The  sum  is,  you  haf  e  just  four  chances  of  safety," 
and  Lawyer  Leach  touched  each  of  his  four  left 
fingers  as  he  counted  them  off.  "  First,  you  may 
not  be  called  upon  to  subscribe ;  mayhap  it  will 
only  be  the  upper  rank  in  church  and  state,  in  which 
case  you  save  your  head  by  ducking  it  down  among 
the  people.  Or,  secondly,  you  may  be  called  upon, 
and  you  can  subscribe.  That,  let  me  tell  you,  is 
what  most  people  will  do.  Or,  thirdly r,  you  can 
leave  the  country  till  the  storm  blows  over.  Your 
estate  is  safe.  Your  father  is  yet  living,  and  you 
may  be  assured  that  he  will  subscribe,  —  and  so  the 
estate  will  not  be  confiscated  while  in  his  hands. 
Perhaps  you  may  return  and  inherit  it  under  a 
Catholic  succession.  No  one  knows  what  the  wheel 
will  turn  up  at  last.  Or,  fourthly,  there  may  be 
some  spirit  among  the  people,  and  perhaps  the 


LEGAL    ADVICE.  23 

juries  will  not  all  slump  in.  We  shall  see  Monday. 
If  there  is  any  stand  possible  against  these  meas 
ures,  we  shall  see  it  at  More's  trial.  If  all  these 
chances  fail  you,  and  you  are  at  the  mercy  of  the 
crown  lawyers,  —  why  you  can  die  for  abstractions 
and  quiddities  like  a  Lollard,  if  you  like." 

It  is  something  gained  to  a  patient  when  his 
physician  has  told  him  the  exact  nature  of  his  dis 
ease;  and  whether  it  be  medicable  or  mortal,  the 
patient's  pulse  is  sure  to  beat  more  calmly.  It  is 
something  gained  when  a  possible  calamity  takes 
shape  and  outline,  and  the  portentous  shadow  can 
be  scanned  and  measured.  So  thought  and  felt  the 
client  of  Lawyer  Leach.  Still  the  trial  at  West 
minster  Hall  on  Monday  was  waited  with  an  inter 
est  too  agonizing  to  be  long  endurable. 


CHAPTER    IV. 

THE  PRODIGY. 

FOR  days  and  nights  the  anxious  client  had  time 
to  digest  the  counsel  of  the  Papist  lawyer,  and 
weigh  the  argument  in  such  metaphysical  scales  as 
he  was  able  to  hold.  He  wanted  to  resolve  on 
some  line  of  conduct  in  a  possible,  and  every  day  a 
more  probable  emergency,  so  that  when  the  trial 
hour  should  come  he  might  act  with  manly  decis 
ion  and  coolness.  His  nature  was  of  a  robust  and 
sturdy  make,  and  leaned  strongly  towards  the  prac 
tical.  And  though  he  did  not  comprehend  the  Jes 
uit  lawyer's  distinction  between  the  res  in  animo 
and  the  res  gesta,  nor  understand  how  one  could 
take  decided  damage  without  the  other,  yet  the 
new  application  of  the  doctrine  of  church  suprem 
acy  and  prerogative  appeared  to  him  in  an  exceed 
ingly  interesting  light.  If  he  admitted  the  postu 
late,  which  he  must  as  a  good  Catholic,  he  could 
not  understand  why  the  conclusion  was  not  a 
sound  one.  But  in  all  earnest  natures  there  is 
something  to  be  satisfied  beside  the  intellect ;  and 
when  the  intellect  is  about  leading  astray  with  its 


THE    PRODIGY.  25 

chaffering  logic,  the  moral  nature  will  rise  in  its 
noble  supremacy,  and  brush  clean  away  the  bewil 
dering  web-work  that  would  obscure  its  vision. 

Richard  had  revolved  these  things  till  his  brain 
was  fevered  and  throbbing,  and  he  determined  to 
shake  off  for  a  while  his  distracting  thoughts,  and 
drive  away  the  grirn  fancies  of  the  future.  Wait 
and  see.  The  issue  of  More's  trial  would  inspire 
men's  minds  with  confidence  or  with  terror,  and 
meanwhile  let  us  hope  in  God. 

There  was  enough  in  London  to  divert  a  stran 
ger's  mind  from  himself,  if  anything  external  could 
do  it.  Just  fancy  Richard  Sayer  walking  through 
the  Strand  into  Fleet  Street,  through  the  sights 
and  noises  that  must  have  met  his  eye  and  ear. 
Not  yet  had  stage-coaches  come  into  use,  and  so 
his  ear  was  not  dinned  with  the  shaking  thunder 
and  the  roar  of  wheels.  Not  yet  had  the  morn 
ing  papers  been  issued,  and  so  all  the  advertising 
was  done  by  street-criers  in  the  great  thoroughfares, 
and  especially  the  Strand.  Fishwives,  orange-wom 
en,  mackerel-women,  costard-mongers,  broom-men, 
chimney-sweeps,  pie-men,  and  fruit-men  screamed 
and  roared  inharmonious  into  the  ears  of  passers- 
by;  while  booths  in  which  silks,  cloths,  and  cut 
lery  were  exhibited,  and  behind  which  men  were 
bawling,  "  What  lack  ye  ?  "  gave  an  agreeable  va 
riety  to  the  din.  Through  such  a  scene  as  this 
Richard  walked  along  the  Strand ;  and  the  cherry- 
women,  who  cried,  "  Cherries  in  the  rise,"  that  is,  on 
the  twigs,  and  more  especially,  "  Ripe  cherries  from 
Kent,"  would  perhaps  touch  a  chord  of  strange  and 


26  THE    EXILE. 

thronging  memories,  yea,  not  unlike  those  which 
Old  Herrick  embodied  afterwards  in  his  luscious 
lines :  — 

"  Cherry  ripe,  ripe,  ripe  !  I  cry  ; 
Full  and  fair  ones ;  come  and  buy. 
If  so  be  you  ask  me  where 
They  do  grow,  I  answer,  There 
Where  my  Julia's  lips  do  smile,  — 
There  's  the  land  of  cherry  isle ; 
Whose  plantations  fully  show 
All  the  year  where  cherries  grow." 

But  not  this,  nor  all  the  sights  and  sounds  of  Lon 
don,  have  drawn  him  quite  away  from  his  sombre 
meditations.  He  has  passed  out  of  the  Strand, 
with  its  jostle  and  hubbub  ;  he  has  crossed  Temple 
Bar  into  Fleet  Street,  where  he  is  roused  perforce 
from  his  reflections  by  a  stir  quite  unusual  even  in 
this  London  hive.  A  crowd  is  rushing  alo'ng  with 
hurrying  feet,  and  before  he  can  look  about  him 
they  have  involved  him  in  the  current,  and  swept 
him  against  the  sides  of  the  buildings.  They  do 
not  stop  to  pick  him  up,  but  are  still  on  the  run, 
pouring  over  Ludgate  Hill  and  by  St.  Paul's,  and 
he  sees  by  their  wonder-stricken  faces  that  they  are 
bent  towards  a  common  object.  He  has  scarcely 
gathered  up  his  scattered  limbs  when  another  squad 
comes  hurrying  'on  "  to  see  the  miracle."  He  falls 
into  the  wake  of  the  stream,  —  indeed,  he  could  not 
very  well  get  out  of  it,  —  and  he  is  glad  of  any 
sight  to  relieve  him  of  the  agony  of  his  reflections. 
Down  it  sweeps,  turning  to  the  right  through  a 
cross  lane  into  Thames  Street,  to  London  Bridge, 
pouring  over  it,  till  men  and  women  and  boys  and 
horses  and  carts  are  there  jammed  in  together. 


THE    PRODIGY.  27 

The  old  London  Bridge  proper  was  at  this  time 
the  only  one  that  spanned  the  Thames.  It  was  not 
only  a  bridge,  but  a  street.  A  continuous  row  of 
buildings  stood  on  each  side,  upheld  by  the  piers, 
over  which  the  houses  sometimes  projected,  looking 
as  if  about  to  reel  and  tumble  into  the  water.  The 
street  between  these  houses  was  sometimes  quite 
narrow,  for  it  varied  in  breadth  from  ten  to  fifteen 
feet.  Great  beams  or  cross-bars  extended  overhead 
from  one  side  of  the  street  to  the  other,  especially 
where  two  houses  opposite  showed  a  decided  incli- 
natiof?  to  pitch  contrariwise  into  the  river,  and 
needed  to  be  fastened  together  to  help  each  other 
keep  their  balance.  On  these  cross-beams  great, 
ponderous  signs  were  hanging  and  swinging,  —  signs 
of  taverns,  booksellers,  tailors,  grocers,  barbers,  and 
haberdashers,  each  with  its  symbol  painted  red, 
green,  black,  or  yellow,  three  times  as  large  as  life 
and  a  great  many  times  more  grim.  There  was  the 
sign  of  the  Sugar-loaf,  the  sign  of  the  Angel  with 
his  wings  and  trumpet  well  battered,  the  sign  of  the 
Lion,  the  sign  of  the  Bear,  the  sign  of  the  Bible, 
the  sign  of  the  Blackboy,  and  the  sign  of  the 
Breeches;  and  whenever  a  gust  of  wind  swept 
over  the  bridge,  sugar-loaves,  angels,  lions,  bears, 
bibles,  blackboys,  and  breeches,  swung  and  creaked 
and  growled  and  groaned  in  strange  concert  over 
the  din  of  street  noises  below.  Such  was  the  scene 
into  which  Richard  now  found  himself  plunged,  he 
knew  not  for  what  purpose,  except  to  be  rolled 
onward  and  see  the  miracle  with  the  rest.  If  he 
looked  at  his  right,  soon  after  coming  upon  the 


THE    EXILE. 


bridge,  he  must  have  seen  another  sign,  on  which 
was  the  name  of  Hans  Holbein,  the  world-renowned 
painter,  for  he  lived  there  ;  perhaps  Mrs.  Holbein's 
great  red  Dutch  face  was  at  the  window,  wondering 
at  the  excitement  011  the  bridge,  and  perhaps  the 
face  of  the  painter  himself  was  looking  out  from 
his  studio  in  the  breezy  attic,  and  catching  all  the 
strange  hues  of  passion  and  manners  as  he  saw 
them  in  the  rolling  and  turbid  stream  of  London 
life  beneath.  But  Richard  cannot  stop  for  this,  but 
is  borne  on  to  see  the  new  wonder,  meeting  on  the 
way  the  ebb-tide  of  those  who  had  already  seen  it 
and  were  retiring  with  big  eyes. 

A  little  past  the  middle  of  the  bridge,  towards 
Southwark,  rose  "  The  Traitor's  Tower,"  which 
peered  above  the  houses  on  either  side,  and  com 
manded  a  fine  view  of  the  river  for  some  distance 
up  and  down  the  stream.  On  the  top  of  this  tow 
er,  all  round  the  balustrade,  were  stuck  long  poles 
sharpened  at  the  upper  end,  and  on  the  sharp  ends 
of  the  poles  were  stuck  —  the  heads  of  traitors ! 
This  was  one  of  the  institutions  of  royalty  de 
signed  to  exert  its  salutary  influence  on  the  pop 
ulace,  and  with  the  red  fagot  symbols,  and  the 
real  fagots  themselves,  regulate  both  the  thinking 
and  the  conduct  of  the  masses.  At  this  time  the 
poles  stood  pretty  thick  around  the  balustrades, 
each  with  its  horrible  sight  to  exhibit.  There  were 
rows  of  faces,  turned  up  and  down  the  river,  black 
ening  and  consuming  in  the  hot  sun  ;  skulls  that 
had  nothing  left  but  bone  and  socket ;  visages 
whose  features  were  yet  traceable,  and  which  glared 


THE    PRODIGY. 

and  grinned  as  the  shrinking  muscles  col 
away  ;  Carthusian  monks  staring  and  looking 
cadaverous;  and  heads  of  greater  note,  that  still 
preserved  some  semblance  of  a  human  countenance. 
In  the  midst  of  all  this  ghastly  array  was  the  head 
of  Fisher,  the  face  turned  towards  the  Kentish  hills. 
Many  days  had  elapsed  since  it  was  placed  there, 
but  it  looked  down  more  fresh  and  life-like  than 
ever.  Yea,  while  all  around  it  consumed  and  black 
ened  in  the  hot  air,  that  saintly  face  put  on  every 
day  a  more  soft  and  beautiful  bloom ;  and  the 
cheeks  that  were  wrinkled  with  age  assumed  a 
more  youthful  freshness.  Day  after  day  a  mid 
summer  sun  had  been  scalding  down  upon  it,  only 
to  bring  out  its  natural  expressiveness  and  benig 
nity.  The  breezes  from  the  Thames  touched  his 
white  hairs  with  gentle  fingers,  and  they  still  hung 
undishevelled ;  and  the  eye  and  countenance  were 
turned  down  on  the  gaping  multitudes,  as  if  giving 
them  still  a  patriarchal  benediction.  We  will  not 
stop  to  subject  the  fact  to  a  chemical  analysis, — 
we  give  it  as  it  impressed  itself  on  the  minds  and 
imaginations  of  the  people  that  thronged  to  see  it, 
and  to  whom  it  was  a  sign  from  heaven  ;  as  if  the 
very  bodies  of  God's  servants  were  immortal  against 
the  touch  of  tyrants.  Here  the  hurrying  crowd  had 
brought  up,  and  were  choked  in  along  the  Traitor's 
Tower,  gazing  up  in  silent  wonder  into  that  saintly 
countenance  When  their  curiosity  and  their  love 
of  marvel  were  satisfied,  they  began  slowly  to  re 
cede,  and  a  voice  broke  from  the  crowd  which  said, 
"  To-morrow  it  will  speak  ! " 

3* 


CHAPTER    V. 

SUNDAY  IN  LONDON. 

"  HAIL,  Sabbath !  day  of  mercy,  peace,  and  rest ! " 
coming  down  upon  the  earth  like  an  angel  of  silence 
to  give  a  truce  to  all  its  conflicting  interests  and  pas 
sions,  —  coming  down  upon  great  cities  with  thy 
"Peace,  be  still!"  —  when  the  noise  stops  in  the 
streets,  and  the  demons  in  men's  minds,  though  not 
exorcised,  are  calmed  and  remain  dumb  to  wait  the 
morrow's  time.  But  a  Sabbath-day  in  London  in 
1535  was  not  the  Sabbath  which  comes  three  cen 
turies  later,  that  meek  quiet  may  spread  over  it  her 
"  wings  invisible  "  ;  and  we  shall  acknowledge,  in 
the  comparison,  that  society  has  not  been  going 
backward.  We  will  make  out  as  well  as  we  can 
from  the  too  brief  diary  of  Richard,  the  last  Sun 
day  in  June  which  he  passed  in  that  tumultuous 
city  in  these  tumultuous  times. 

The  Strand  was  not  then,  as  now,  entirely  filled 
up  with  buildings.  Splendid  mansions  had  arisen 
there,  along  the  margin  of  the  Thames,  but  there 
were  wide  openings,  both  towards  the  river  on  the 
south  side  of  the  street,  and  towards  the  country 


SUNDAY    IN    LONDON.  31 

on  the  north.  In  one  of  these  openings,  towards 
the  Thames,  there  was  a  large  clump  of  old  trees, 
on  a  site  that  commanded  a  most  soothing  pros 
pect,  with  city,  river,  town,  and  country  interblend- 
ing.  Hither  our  stranger  in  London  had  walked 
over  from  St.  Clement's  Inn,  ere  yet  the  city  was 
astir.  It  was  one  of  the  clearest  and  sweetest 
mornings  of  June,  and  even  a  London  fog  could 
not  hide  the  sun's  face,  for  he  looked  through  it. 
On  the  opposite  side  of  the  river  lay  the  village 
of  Lambeth,  in  which  its  episcopal  palace  rose 
conspicuous,  the  residence  now  of  Cranmer,  and 
the  seat  ever  of  ecclesiastical  power.  Beyond 
Lambeth  rose  the  hills  of  Surrey,  clothed  in  then- 
greenest  summer  glories,  fading  off  in  the  distance 
to  where  the  fleecy  clouds  seemed  to  have  slept  all 
night  upon  their  summits,  and  were  just  beginning 
to  dress  themselves  in  purple  and  soar  away, — 
no  bad  image  to  represent  the  souls  that  rise  out 
of  earth's  dark  night  into  the  pure  heavens  above. 
Close  by,  Father  Thames  was  rolling  his  noiseless 
flood,  from  whose  face  the  mists  were  creeping  off. 
London  Bridge,  with  its  horrible  Traitor's  Tower, 
could  be  distinctly  seen,  and  nearer  still  a  long  line 
of  gold  and  silver  sheen,  which  the  sun  was  making 
upon  the  waters,  with  sometimes  the  white  swans 
of  the  Thames  gliding  through  it  and  tipping  their 
feathers  with  gold.  Out  of  the  city  of  London  rose 
a  forest  of  church-steeples,  and  high  over  them  all 
the  dome  of  St.  Paul's,  surmounted  by  its  huge  ball, 
now  burnished  and  dazzling  like  a  mock-sun,  and 
the  cross  that  cut  its  clear  outline  on  the  cerulean 


32  THE    EXILE. 

ground  above.  Such  was  the  spectacle  on  which 
Richard  gazed  on  that  Sabbath  morning  of  the  30th 
of  June,  where  he  sought  the  soothing  influences 
from  nature  which  he  could  not  find  in  human 
society  ;  and  we  dp  not  wonder  at  the  bitter  words 
which  he  records :  "  O,  why  should  it  be  that  man 
is  the  only  foul  blot  which  God  has  made  on  the 
face  of  his  works  !  "  And  we  do  not  wonder  that 
an  historian,  after  describing  the  principal  events  in 
the  reign  of  Henry  the  Eighth,  raises  the  question 
whether  in  those  days  the  sun  did  really  shine  in 
London  and  the  skies  look  blue. 

But  the  morning  hours  are  passing,  and  the  Sab 
bath  bells  are  ringing,  and  London  is  once  more 
emptying  its  pent-up  life  into  the  streets,  which  is 
threading  its  way  hither  and  thither.  St.  Clement's 
Church  and  St.  Mary's  both  stood  close  by  in  the 
Strand,  and  little  companies  of  worshippers  were 
bending  their  way  into  them.  But  the  place  of  all 
others  to  attract  a  stranger  in  London  was  St. 
Paul's  ;  especially  if  he  was  intent  on  watching  the 
current  of  events,  and  the  prognostics  of  coming 
history,  —  and  to  St.  Paul's  we  must  follow,  for  a 
few  moments,  the  hero  of  our  story. 

Let  not  the  reader  imagine,  however,  that  we  are 
now  to  be  introduced  to  a  gorgeous  service  in  St. 
Paul's  Cathedral,  with  the  organ  peals  sending 
through  the  arches  their  throbbings  of  melody  and 
the  saints  of  bygone  centuries  looking  down  from 
every  niche  of  the  sculptured  marble.  The  service 
is  not  in  the  church,  but  the  churchyard. 

On  the  north  side  of  the  cathedral  there  was  a 


SUNDAY    IN    LONDON.  33 

large  vacant  space,  which  from  earliest  times  had 
been  the  burial  spot  of  the  city.  It  was  finally  en 
closed,  and  towards  the  eastern  extremity  there  was 
raised  a  large  wooden  cross,  and  under  the  cross  a 
pulpit.  A  tree  was  standing  near  enough  to  fling 
its  shade  over  the  pulpit,  and  protect  it  in  part  from 
the  sun's  rays.  This  was  the  famous  "  St.  Paul's 
Cross,"  which  had  long  been  a  stand  from  which  to 
make  appeals  to  the  popular  mind,  and  in  times  of 
excitement  and  change,  London  would  empty  itself 
into  the  churchyard  to  hear  the  latest  proclamation 
of  the  ruling  power  and  interest.  It  served  the 
same  purpose  that  an  administration  organ  does 
at  Washington  now.  There  politics  and  religion 
were  both  preached,  and  sometimes  in  a  strange 
jumble.  There  Popery  had  been  preached  up  and 
preached  down,  according  as  the  tide  ebbed  or 
flowed.  Henry  had  seized  upon  this  position,  and 
the  obsequious  priests  and  bishops  here  piped  such 
music  as  the  Privy  Council  at  Whitehall  thought 
best  to  have  played  in  the  people's  ears. 

The  reader  then  will  please  represent  to  himself, 
that  on  the  clear  Sunday  morning  of  June  30th, 
1535,  St.  Paul's  Churchyard  is  crowded  full,  and 
the  event  which  has  just  taken  place,  and  the  events 
which  loom  up  in  the  gloomy  future,  have  brought 
them  hither  with  ears  wide  open  to  hear.  All  classes 
are  there.  The  bishops,  earls,  and  knights  occupy 
conspicuous  places  on  the  right  and  left  of  the 
speaker;  a  lower  stratum  of  humanity  forms  the 
central  mass ;  the  dregs  of  London  populace  float 
around  the  circumference,  trampling  over  the  graves, 


34  THE    EXILE. 

or  leaning  against  the  walls  of  the  churchyard. 
Richard,  quite  as  much  interested  as  anybody  in 
the  sort  of  music  which  is  to  be  piped  from  Paul's 
Cross,  has  wedged  himself  in  between  a  fat  man 
and  a  tombstone,  and  is  likely  to  hear  the  sermon 
without  going  to  sleep  under  it. 

There  is  a  low  platform  at  the  base  of  the  pulpit, 
raised  two  or  three  feet  from  the  ground,  and  on 
this  are  placed  some  curious  specimens,  which  serve 
the  preacher  with  ample  illustrations.  They  are 
nothing  else  than  three  live  Lollards,  who  have 
been  caught  in  Kent,  and  lodged  several  days  and 
nights  in  Lollard's  Tower,  —  a  prison  kept  for  such 
purposes  in  the  episcopal  palace  at  Lambeth;  and 
hither  they  have  been  marched  all  the  way  this 
morning,  corning  through  Westminster  and  along 
the  Strand,  each  barefooted  and  bareheaded,  and 
carrying  fagots  on  their  backs,  —  all  the  while  the 
sun  shining,  and  the  blue  sky  bending  above.  The 
fagots  now  are  real  ones,  veritable  bundles  of  dry 
twigs ;  and  the  heretics  are  arranged,  each  with  his 
fagot,  right  under  the  speaker's  nose,  where  he  can 
conveniently  swing  his  fist  over  their  heads,  and 
about  their  ears,  and  exhibit  them  to  the  audience, 
somewhat  as  a  geological  lecturer  might  exhibit 
the  monsters  of  the  secondary  formations.  The 
specimens,  in  this  case,  were  a  man  and  his  wife, 
and  their  only  child,  a  boy  say  of  ten  or  twelve 
years.  The  man  was  a  plain  mechanic,  who  had 
been  thinking  out  a  theology  of  his  own  over  his 
lapstone.  The  woman's  face,  bent  downward  to 
escape  the  stare  of  the  multitude,  was  an  intelligent 


SUNDAY    IN    LONDON. 


35 


and  thoughtful  one,  meek  and  placid,  but  pale  as 
marble,  showing  all  the  veins  that  threaded  it, — 
showing  traces  too  of  a  thousand  waves  of  anguish 
that  had  gone  over  her  soul.  The  boy  was  a  sturdy 
little  fellow,  and  looked  decidedly  sullen,  and  evi 
dently,  while  doing  his  penance,  was  cursing  the 
whole  race  of  bishops,  and  treasuring  up  hoarded 
anger  enough  to  make  a  full-grown  Puritan  in  the 
end. 

The  preacher  rose  up  and  harangued  his  hearers 
in  a  voice  that  was  a  compromise  between  a  scream 
and  a  howl.  He  drew  his  text  from  the  narrative 
which  describes  Samson  grinding  in  the  mill  of 
the  Philistines.  He  said  the  mill  of  the  Philistines 
represented  the  devil's  mill,  and  the  wheat  was  the 
Church  of  Christ,  in  danger  of  being  bruised  and 
powdered  between  the  upper  and  the  nether  mill 
stone.  The  Pope  and  his  bishops  and  cardinals 
were  the  upper  millstone.  He  then  went  on  and 
denounced  the  Pope,  and  the  doctrine  of  the  Pope's 
supremacy,  and  told  how  their  power  was  to  be 
shivered  in  pieces  throughout  the  kingdom.  He 
altuded  to  the  late  execution,  and,  pointing  towards 
London  Bridge,  exclaimed,  "  So  all  Popish  traitors 
shall  perish,  and  their  heads  be  stuck  up  yonder 
for  ravens  to  pick  at."  He  alluded  to  the  trial 
which  was  to  take  place  to-morrow,  when  treason 
again  was  to  be  crushed  and  given  to  destruction. 
Then  he  launched  forth  on  the  King's  supremacy, 
made  an  apotheosis  to  the  King  himself,  who  was 
like  the  sun  shining  in  his  strength,  eulogized  the 
new  Queen,  and  came  at  length  to  the  other  mill- 


36  THE    EXILE. 

stone,  the  nether  one,  on  which  the  devil  was 
seeking  to  crush  the  Church  of  God.  This  was 
none  other  than  Lollardism,  which  denied  the  doc 
trine  of  tran substantiation,  and  brought  in  other 
damnable  heresies.  And  here  he  turned  to  the  live 
specimens  before  him,  and  vociferated  abundance 
of  pious  exhortation,  telling  them  that  the  fagot- 
fires,  from  which  their  present  confession  and  pen 
ance  had  saved  them,  would  be  lighted  up  with  a 
hotter  blaze  if  they  should  relapse,  and  were  only 
the  faintest  prefiguration  of  the  fires  of  hell.  His 
face  grew  red,  and  his  eyes  grew  big  with  his  ex 
hortation  ;  which  being  over,  the  Lollards  were  con 
ducted  back  through  the  Strand,  and  thence  to 
Lambeth,  a  rabble  of  boys  and  fishmongers  follow 
ing  with  hootings  and  jeerings. 

What  impression  Richard  got  from  the  morning 
service  we  need  not  stop  to  describe.  We  presume 
it  did  not  alter  the  impression  already  recorded,  that 
man  was  the  chief  blot  which  God  had  made  on  the 
face  of  his  works.  But  he  had  not  yet  enjoyed  to 
the  full  the  privileges  of  a  Sabbath  in  London. 
He  sought  again  in  the  afternoon  the  spot  where 
the  day  had  dawned  upon  him,  amid  the  sweet  in 
fluences  from  skies  and  waters.  The  old  trees  on 
the  Strand  again  welcomed  him  into  their  embow 
ering  shade,  as  if  opening  to  him  a  sympathizing 
refuge  from  human  heartlessness  and  cruelty.  The 
outlook  towards  the  Thames  presented  the  same 
range  of  objects,  though  not  bathed  in  the  rory 
freshness  of  the  morning.  The  clouds  had  all  gone 
up  from  the  Surrey  hills,  and  the  glare  of  the  sun 


SUNDAY    IN    LONDON.  37 

lay  upon  them ;  the  bosom  of  the  Thames  was 
covered  with  boats  and  barges,  crossing  to  and  fro 
between  the  city  and  the  Southwark  side,  and  the 
breeze  came  up  tired  from  the  water's  edge,  and 
languidly  made  ripples  through  the  leaves.  But 
his  eye  need  not  wander  a  great  way  to  distinguish 
still  a  new  feature  of  the  London  Sabbath. 

In  the  wide  open  space  back  of  St.  Clement's  Inn, 
then  partly  filled  up  with  sedges  and  bushes,  was 
one  of  those  enclosures  called  a  bear-garden.  And 
farther  eastward,  and  in  sight  of  the  spot  "  where 
the  tall  May-pole  once  o'erlooked  the  Strand,"  was 
another  spot  dedicated  to  theatrical  exhibitions, 
ere  yet  Shakespeare  had  raised  them  up  and  trans 
figured  them  by -the  touch  of  genius.  But  nearer 
than  these,  and  now  right  under  the  eye  of  our 
stranger  in  London,  was  the  celebrated  bear-house, 
with  its  enclosure,  which  lay  on  the  other  side  of 
the  Strand  and  down  among  the  terraced  gardens 
that  descended  to  the  Thames.  Here  it  was  that 
Queen  Elizabeth  took  Mary,  her  sister,  that  she 
might  be  edified  by  the  sports  of  bear-baiting,  some 
years  later  than  those  of  which  we  write.  The 
rule  was,  not  that  the  bear-gardens  should  be 
opened  all  days  in  the  week,  Sundays  excepted, 
but  that  they  should  not  be  open  any  day  in  the 
week  except  Sundays;  though  the  rule  came  at 
length  to  be  violated,  when  the  sports  were  thought 
to  be  too  good  for  the  Sundays  to  monopolize.* 

*  Old  Cartwright,  in  one  of  his  tracts,  adduces  an  original  and 
quite  curious  argument  against  the  use  of  a  liturgy.     The  public  form 
of  prayer,  he  says,  will  never  do  ;  for  the  minister  is  tempted  to  hurry 
4  * 


38  THE    EXILE. 

It  is  now  past  one  o'clock,  and  the  flags  from  the 
theatres  and  bear-gardens  are  all  displayed,  in  sign 
that  the  sport  is  commencing.  As  the  subject  of 
our  story  is  looking  on,  the  flag  from  the  bear- 
house  by  the  Thames,  under  his  eye,  is  flouted  by 
the  same  breeze  that  comes  up  to  stir  the  green 
leaves  over  his  head,  and  t[ie  shout  and  the  tumult 
come  up  very  distinctly  to  his  ear. 

The  exercises  in  a  bear-garden  were  something 
after  this  fashion.  The  bear  is  hoodwinked  and 
placed  in  the  centre  of  the  enclosure ;  a  dense  ring  is 
formed  around  him,  armed  with  whips  and  cudgels ; 
with  these  the  animal  is  beaten  and  lacerated,  till, 
stung  and  maddened  with  the  pain,  he  rushes 
blindly  among  his  tormentors,  gnashing  upon  them 
with  his  teeth,  sometimes  seizing  their  weapons, 
and  splintering  them  between  his  jaws ;  the  tor 
mentors  meanwhile  dexterously  eluding  him,  and 
sending  shouts  and  peals  of  laughter  to  the  welkin 
at  every  skilful  turning  and  doubling,  until  the  ani 
mal  is  either  worried  out  or  worried  to  death,  and 
ends  the  sport.  If  a  bear  is  not  to  be  had,  a  harm 
less  ape  is  made  to  supply  his  place,  or  some 
times  a  brace  of  cocks,  when  "  cocking,"  instead  of 
baiting,  closes  the  exercises  of  holy  time.  These 
amusements  served  pretty  well  to  feed  the  tastes 


over  it,  that  the  Divine  service  may  give  place  to  the  games  that  stic- 
cced  it,  which  it  seems  had  greater  attraction  both  to  priest  and  peo 
ple  than  the  service  itself.  It  would  be  difficult  to  show  how  an  ex 
temporaneous  service  would  secure  its  prolongation.  The  games 
formed  the  common  finale  to  a  London  Sabbath,  down  to  a  period 
much  later  than  1535. 


SUNDAY    IN    LONDON.  39 

and  form  the  manners  of  the  people,  and  prepare 
them  to  enjoy  the  spectacle  of  cutting  off  men's 
heads  on  Tower  Hill,  or  roasting  Lollards  in  Smith- 
field  Square  ;  or,  in  the  imagery  of  our  morning  ser 
mon,  breaking  in  pieces  the  upper  and  nether  stones 
of  the  devil's  grist-mill. 

Richard  had  not  mere  than  half  digested  the 
morning  sermon,  musing  on  the  probable  event  of 
the  morrow,  his  thoughts  making  quick  journeys  to 
Colchester  and  back  again,  and  anon  looking  heav 
enward  for  guidance  through  the  gloomy  future, 
when  the  roar  of  voices  came  up  from  the  bear 
garden,  mingling  with  the  breezy  murmur  of  the 
Thames.  He  heard  it  for  some  time,  growing 
louder  and  more  tumultuous ;  saw  the  red  flag 
streaming  from  the  bear-house,  the  sun  still  shining, 
and  the  sky  overhead  looking  softly  blue,  and  the 
hills  of  Surrey  in  the  mellowing  distance  looking 
softly  green.  Sick  at  heart,  he  sprang  to  his  feet, 
perhaps  with  the  expression  on  his  lips  that  he  put 
into  his  diary,  "  O  God !  why  hast  thou  made  man 
the  sole  blot  on  thy  beautiful  works  ?  "  and  walked 
with  a  rapid  pace  down  the  Strand. 

An  old  face  had  risen  before  him  again ;  the  face 
of  the  Bishop  of  Rochester,  melting  through  the 
mists  and  clouds  of  past  memories  fresh  and  be 
nignant  as  when  it  watched  over  his  boyhood  in 
the  Kentish  vales ;  and  his  feet  went  of  their  own 
wTill  towards  London  Bridge  and  Traitor's  Tower. 
"  Perhaps  it  will  speak,"  he  might  have  said  to  him 
self,  "when  the  lips  of  the  living  speak  flatteries 
and  lies."  Streams  of  foot-passengers  were  still 


40  THE    EXILE. 

pouring  over  the  bridge,  stopping  at  Traitor's  Tower 
and  gazing  upward.  And  there  it  was  again !  that 
saintly  face,  growing  more  fresh  every  day,  and  com 
ing  back  to  its  manly  beauty,  while  the  horrible  vis 
ages  around  it  were  growing  blacker  and  blacker. 
There  it  was  again,  looking  a  benediction  on  the 
people  below,  turned  still  towards  the  beloved  hills 
of  Kent  to  give  the  last  blessing  to  its  ancient 
charge,  and  demanding  for  this  very  purpose  im 
munity  from  the  claiming  grave.  And  it  spake! 
Several  people  heard  it  speak.  Richard  Sayer  de 
clared  he  heard  it,  and  could  tell  what  it  said,  —  for 
the  valley  of  the  Medway  swam,  visible  before  him, 
the  walls  of  the  old  Rochester  cathedral,  with  its 
groined  roof,  were  around  and  above  him ;  the  tones 
of  the  old  organ  came  pealing  loud  and  quivering 
down  all  the  aisles;  and  then  a  heavenly  counte 
nance  was  leaning  over  the  chancel,  and  holy 
hands  were  laid  upon  his  head,  and  these  words 
came  clear  and  articulate:  "Whosoever  shall  be 
ashamed  of  me  and  of  my  words  in  this  adulterous 
and  sinful  generation,  of  him  shall  the  Son  of  Man 
be  ashamed  when  he  cometh  in  the  glory  of  his 
Father  with  the  holy  angels." 

And  then  the  vision  passed  away,  all  but  that 
saintly  face,  still  looking  fresh  and  meek  as  ever 
from  among  the  blackening  visages,  and  he  was 
gazing  into  it.  Those  words  must  have  dropped 
down  from  Traitor's  Tower. 


CHAPTER    VI. 

THE    TKIAL. 

AFFAIRS  were  hastening  to  their  crisis.  The  man 
on  whose  fate  the  nation  seemed  for  a  moment  to 
hang  breathless  had  been  lying  fourteen  months  in 
the  Tower.  He  had  held  the  highest  judicial  office 
in  the  realm,  but  he  saw  that  Henry  meant  to  use 
him  and  his  office  to  pander  to  his  lusts  ;  he  would 
not  be  so  used,  and  resigned.  For  a  little  while  he 
was  suffered  to  remain  in  quiet  at  his  home  in  Chel 
sea,  just  above  London,  where,  amid  the  charms  of 
domestic  society  and  the  songs  of  his  robins,  he 
gave  himself  up  to  elegant  and  delightful  studies. 
The  oath  was  at  length  tendered  him  by  Cranmer ; 
he  would  not  sign  it',  and  was  cast  into  the  Tower. 
Through  these  fourteen  months  he  had  had  abun 
dant  leisure  to  count  the  cost  of  incorruptible  integ 
rity,  and  weigh  a  good  conscience  against  the  dross 
of  earth.  From  his  prison  window  he  could  look 
down  into  the  green  yard  around  the  White  Tower, 
and  see  the  spot  where  Richard  sent  out  Hastings 
to  execution,  and  where  the  blood  of  innocence  and 
beauty  was  to  be  poured  out  profusely,  till  the  grass 

4* 


42  THE    EXILE. 

refused  to  grow.  More  had  been  plied  with  threats 
and  blandishments,  and  though  he  never  wavered, 
his  language  at  the  terrible  crisis  shows  the  strug 
gle  in  his  breast.  His  wife  came  to  see  him.  She 
could  not  understand  the  sublime  elevation  on  which 
he  stood.  "  What  the  goodyear,  Mr.  More  !  I  mar 
vel  that  you,  who  have  hitherto  been  taken  for  a 
wise  man,  will  now  so  play  the  fool  as  to  lie  here  in 
this  close,  filthy  prison,  shut  up  with  mice  and  rats. 
Do  as  the  bishops  and  best  learned  of  the  realm 
have  done,  and  come  home  to  your  wife  and  chil 
dren."  This  did  not  disturb  his  equable  and  di 
vine  patience.  But  when  his  favorite  daughter,  his 
"dear  Meg,"  wrote  him,  and  urged  him  to  sub 
scribe,  it  cut  him  to  the  heart.  He  sent  for  her,  and 
she  came  to  his  prison.  There  he  tried  to  make  her 
understand  how  contemptible  were  disgrace,  suffer 
ing,  and  death,  when  set  off  against  the  glory  of  in 
corruptible  integrity,  the  sweet  peace  of  conscience, 
and  the  smile  of  God.  Just  then  some  monks  were 
carried  by  to  execution  for  the  same  crime  as  that 
of  which  he  stood  accused.  He  took  her  by  the 
hand  and  led  her  to  the  window.  "  See  there,  Meg ! 
See  how  gayly  as  a  bridegroom  those  men  are  going 
to  their  death."  He  succeeded  in  infusing  his  own 
spirit  into  the  mind  of  his  daughter,  and  making 
her  to  share  his  lofty  magnanimity. 

The  1st  of  July  has  at  length  come.  A  special 
commission  is  appointed  for  the  trial  at  Westmin 
ster  Hall.  They  lead  him  out,  and  parade  him 
through  the  streets  of  the  city  on  his  way  to  trial, 
intending  thereby  to  strike  terror  into  the  public 


THE    TRIAL.  43 

mind.  They  have  clothed  him  in  a  coarse  sack,  as 
a  mark  of  disgrace.  They  have  starved  him  so 
long  in  prison  that  he  walks  with  difficulty.  They 
dread  his  learning  and  eloquence,  and  they  mean 
so  to  crush  him  beforehand  that  he  cannot  use  his 
masterly  powers.  The  vast  space  of  Westminster 
Hall  is  crowded  with  spectators,  and  presents  a  sea 
of  anxious  faces.  "  Will  he  make  out  a  defence 
that  will  stand  with  one  of  Audley's  juries?  "  is  a 
question  on  which  dread  alternatives  are  poised  and 
trembling.  The  river  has  been  alive  all  the  morn 
ing  with  the  barges  of  noblemen  rowing  towards 
Westminster,  and  crowds  of  poor  people,  to  whom 
More  when  Chancellor  had  dispensed  justice  tem 
pered  with  mercy,  have  packed  the  galleries,  and  are 
looking  down  with  agonized  features.  Within  the 
bar  sits  Lawyer  Leach,  with  his  glistering  head  and 
his  cucumber  coolness,  and  not  far  off  stands  his 
client,  watching  the  prisoner  with  as  deep  emotion 
as  if  his  own  life  were  hanging  on  the  issue,  as  in 
deed  he  thinks  it  is.  On  the  bench  —  that  same 
bench  where  More  had  administered  justice  so  im 
partially  —  sits  the  base,  the  Venal,  the  cringing 
Audley,  a  man  who  has  grown  fat  on  confiscations 
of  which  he  was  the  tool,  and  who  is  ready,  like  a 
hound,  either  to  follow  the  scent  of  blood,  or  to  fawn 
upon  and  lick  the  hand  of  his  master.  But  his 
person  and  appearance  are  commanding,  and  we 
see  nothing  at  first  to  indicate  his  baseness  except 
the  cat-like  softness  of  his  manners.  Close  by  his 
side  sits  the  Chief  Justice  of  the  King's  Bench,  Sir 
John  Fitzjames,  early  distinguished  for  his  buffoon- 


44  THE    EXILE. 

ery  and  his  ignorance  of  law,  and  promoted  for  his 
pliancy  in  the  dirty  work  which  tyrants  have  to  be 
done.  There  stands  at  the  bar  Sir  Christopher  Hale, 
the  Attorney- General,  who  has  some  dignity  of  char 
acter,  and  maintains  a  show  of  candor.  Associated 
with  him  is  Mr.  Solicitor,  the  low-browed  Rich,  with 
his  large,  animal  mouth,  and  his  eye  bloodshot  with 
4 '  dagger-ale,"  —  the  schoolboy  companion  of  More, 
who  early  separated  from  him  because  baseness 
and  virtue  are  repellent  forces.  There  sit  the  jury, 
packed  and  overawed,  giving  small  hope  that  they 
are  the  stuff  that  a  bulwark  can  be  made  of  to  stop 
the  sanguinary  flood  that  is  already  on  the  flow. 

The  case  opens,  and  the  indictment  is  read.  It  is 
long,  but  the  gist  of  it  is  that  More  has,  first,  refused 
to  acknowledge  the  King's  supremacy,  and,  second 
ly,  that  he  has  denied  it. 

After  the  indictment  is  read,  Audley  bends  to 
wards  the  prisoner  with  a  feline  courtesy.  "  You  see 
how  grievously  you  have  offended  his  Majesty.  Yet 
he  is  so  merciful,  that,  if  you  will  lay  away  your 
obstinacy,  and  change  your  opinion,  we  hope  you 
may  obtain  pardon." 

"  Most  noble  Lord,"  replies  the  prisoner,  "  I  be 
seech  Almighty  God  that  I  may  continue  in  the 
mind  I  am  in  through  his  grace  unto  death." 

The  case  proceeds,  the  witnesses  are  brought  on ; 
the  lawyers  and  judges  together  think  the  case  is 
made  out,  and  Audley  with  a  smirking  grace  asks 
his  prisoner  if  he  has  anything  to  say. 

More  now  stands  up,  and  leans  upon  his  staff; 
his  features  are  pale  and  prison-worn,  but  there  is 


THE    TRIAL.  45 

still  the  twinkling  drollery  in  the  curves  about  his 
eye,  as  if  he  were  looking  through  and  laughing  to 
scorn  the  web-work  of  sophistry  which  the  lawyers 
have  put  together.  As  he  rises,  all  murmurs  cease 
in  the  crowd,  and  Westminster  Hall  in  its  remotest 
corner  is  silent  as  death.  As  soon  as  he  opens  his 
lips,  his  learning  and  genius  blaze  forth  in  their  mild 
and  beautiful  splendor.  Seeing  how  weak  and  pale 
he  is,  they  offer  him  a  chair,  and  permit  him  to  sit 
while  making  his  defence.  And  there  he  sits,  and 
quietly  riddles  in  pieces  their  fabric  of  accusation 
and  testimony,  sometimes  with  a  sparkle  of  wit,  but 
in  a  light  so  broad  and  luminous  that  the  judges 
themselves  are  ashamed  of  the  case.  He  quietly 
reminds  them  that  no  evidence  has  been  introduced 
to  show  a  denial  of  the  King's  supremacy. 

Here  Rich  interrupts  him  with  a  coarse  violence 
in  his  manner.  "  We  have  your  silence,  which  is 
an  evident  sign  of  a  malicious  mind." 

"Qui  tacet  consentire  videtur"  says  More,  quot 
ing  a  maxim  of  law.  "  He  that  holdeth  his  tongue 
is  taken  to  consent." 

A  laugh  runs  round  the  inside  of  the  bar,  and 
Lawyer  Leach  squints  his  left  eye,  and  looks  to 
wards  his  client,  whose  courage  is  rising  high  as  he 
hears  the  illustrious  prisoner  bringing  out  the  point 
that  Leach  had  before  made,  and  bringing  it  out 
with  a  clearness  that  tells  evidently  on  the  court 
and  the  jury. 

More  has  closed  his  defence,  and  the  judges  look 
aghast  at  each  other.  The  absurdity  of  convicting 
a  man  of  high  treason  because  he  has  said  nothing 


46  THE    EXILE. 

is  so  monstrous  that  they  dare  not  do  it,  even  in  the 
eye  of  the  rawest  student  of  the  New  Inn  who  may 
be  looking  on  in  Westminster  Hall.  More  has 
been  wiser  than  Fisher  was.  When  the  mousers 
purred  around  him  to  tempt  the  treason  out  of  him, 
he  saw  through  them  and  guarded  his  lips,  and  now 
all  that  they  can  prove  is  —  silence.  His  defence  is 
complete,  and  he  has  carried  the  whole  audience, 
—  the  servile  court,  packed  jury,  and  all. 

There  is  a  buzz  all  over  the  house,  every  man 
looking  into  his  neighbor's  face  and  breathing  easy, 
Lawyer  Leach  and  his  client  looking  wise  at  each 
other.  The  court  and  the  crown  lawyers  fall  to  a 
consultation  ;  Audley's  head  is  bent  close  up  to  the 
empty  head  of  Fitzjames.  Hale  is  in  as  close  a 
conference  with  Rich  as  he  well  can  be  without 
taking  too  much  the  fumes  of  the  last  debauch. 

But  the  buzz  stops.  Rich  has  taken  the  witness 
stand.  Blood  must  be  had  at  some  rate,  and  Mr. 
Solicitor  volunteers  to  perjure  himself.  He  swears 
that  he  actually  heard  the  prisoner  deny  the  King's 
spiritual  supremacy  when  on  a  visit  to  him  in  the 
Tower. 

More  turns  upon  the  miscreant  his  pale,  honest 
face,  and  bends  upon  him  the  clear  gaze  of  his  eye, 
and  administers  to  him  a  rebuke  which  must  have 
rung  through  his  conscience  if  he  had  one,  and 
which  at  any  rate  has  set  him  up  in  the  pillory  of 
infamy  for  all  time.  The  prisoner's  form  and  fea 
tures  dilated  into  a  moral  dignity  that  looked  down 
upon  the  cringing  court,  and  made  everybody  forget 
his  squalid  apparel  in  the  outbeaming  majesty  of 
the  man. 


THE    TRIAL.  47 

"  If  I  were  a  man,  my  Lords,  that  did  not  regard 
an  oath,  I  needed  not  at  this  time  and  in  this  place, 
as  is  well  known  to  every  one,  to  stand  an  accused 
person.  And  if  this  oath,  Mr  Rich,  which  you 
have  taken  be  true,  then  I  pray  that  I  never  see 
God  in  the  face,  which  I  would  not  say  were  it 
otherwise  to  gain  the  whole  world." 

The  prisoner  goes  on  and  narrates  the  conversa 
tion  that  did  take  place  in  the  Tower,  and  then,  turn 
ing  round  to  the  false  swearer,  who  dares  not  meet 
his  eye,  —  "  In  good  faith,  Mr.  Rich,  I  am  sorry  for 
your  perjury  more  than  for  mine  own  peril.  We 
know,  Sir,  that  neither  I  nor  any  man  else  ever  took 
you  to  be  a  man  of  such  credit  as  to  communicate 
to  you  any  matter  of  importance.  You  well  know 
that  I  have  been  acquainted  with  your  manner  of 
life  and  conversation  a  long  space,  even  from  my 
youth  up ;  for  we  dwelt  long  in  one  parish,  where, 
as  you  can  tell  yourself,  you  were  esteemed  a  dicer 
and  a  gamester  and  light  of  tongue.  And  your 
fame  is  not  very  commendable  in  the  Temple  or 
the  Inn  where  you  belonged." 

Then  turning  to  the  court,  — "  Does  it  seem 
likely  to  your  honorable  Lordships  that  I  would 
trust  to  this  man,  reputed  of  so  little  truth  and  hon 
esty,  the  secrets  of  my  conscience  ?  I  refer  it  to 
your  judgments,  my  Lords,  whether  the  thing  is 
credible." 

The  address  produces  a  profound  impression  on 
the  by-standers  and  on  the  packed  jury.  Rich 
quails,  fidgets,  examines  new  witnesses,  but  can 
get  no  one  to  confirm  his  lie.  Audley  hurries  on 


48  THE    EXILE. 

the  case,  as  if  ashamed  of  his  business,  charges  the 
jury  to  convict  the  prisoner,  and  sends  them  out. 
They  obey.  In  about  a  quarter  of  an  hour  they 
come  in  with  "  GUILTY,"  and  a  half-smothered  groan 
goes  round  the  galleries  of  Westminster  Hall.  All 
is  lost.  The  barrier  of  "  twelve  good  men  and  true  " 
is  as  unsubstantial  as  last  night's  dream,  and  the 
tide  of  blood  must  roll  on  and  roll  over  us. 

Audley  hastens  to  pronounce  sentence. 

"  Wait,  my  Lords,"  says  the  prisoner.  "  When 
I  was  toward  the  law,  the  prisoner  was  asked  be 
fore  sentence  what  he  had  to  say." 

"  O  true,"  said  Audley,  stammering,  and  blush 
ing  crimson.  "  What  have  you  to  say  why  sen 
tence  of  death  should  not  be  pronounced  ?  " 

More  now  goes  on  and  arraigns  the  statute,  and 
denies  the  power  of  Parliament  to  pass  it.  The 
thing  is  monstrous  in  itself,  and  it  is  an  anomaly  in 
the  whole  constitutional  history  of  the  realm.  The 
Parliament  have  no  more  power  to  make  the  King 
head  of  the  Church  than  they  have  to  vote  God  out 
of  the  universe  ;  and  having  no  constitutional  power 
to  make  this  statute,  all  indictments  under  it  are 
worthless  as  a  straw. 

Audley  is  nonplussed  again,  for  he  knows  all  this 
to  be  true.  But  he  has  a  resource.  The  blockhead 
judge  who  sits  beside  him  does  not  know  it.  Legal 
asses  are  mighty  convenient  things  on  which  to 
saddle  a  false  decision. 

"  What  say  you,  my  Lord  Chief  Justice  ?  "  says 
Audley,  bending  towards  Fitzjames  and  purring. 

Fitzjames,  C.  J.  "  By  St.  Gillian,  my  Lords,  the 
indictment  in  my  conscience  is  sufficient." 


THE    TRIAL.  49 

Audley.  "  Lo !  my  Lords,  lo !  you  hear  what  my 
Lord  Chief  Justice  saith.  Reus  est  mortis." 

He  then  pronounces  the  terrible  sentence  upon 
the  prisoner,  concluding  with  ordering  his  four  quar 
ters  to  be  set  over  four  gates  of  the  city  and  his 
head  upon  London  Bridge. 

"  Have  you  anything  more  to  say  ? "  says  the 
velvet-faced  Audley,  bending  forward. 

"  This  further  only  have  I  to  say,  my  Lords :  that 
like  as  the  blessed  Apostle  Paul  was  present  and 
consenting  to  the  death  of  the  protomartyr  Stephen, 
keeping  their  clothes  that  stoned  him  to  death,  and 
yet  they  be  now  twain  holy  saints  in  heaven,  so  I 
heartily  pray,  that,  though  your  Honors  have  been  on 
earth  my  judges  to  condemnation,  we  may  hereafter 
meet  merrily  in  heaven  together.  God  preserve 
you  all,  especially  my  Sovereign  Lord  the  King, 
and  send  him  faithful  counsellors," 


CHAPTER    VII. 

FAITHFUL  MEG. 

THEY  were  to  go  back  by  water  to  the  Tower, 
and  the  barge  was  waiting  at  the  wherry.  They 
led  the  prisoner  out  through  the  crowd,  the  heads 
man's  axe  being  borne  before  him  with  the  edge 
turned  towards  him,  on  which  Fisher's  blood  was 
yet  fresh.  As  he  walked  out  of  the  hall,  he  was 
heard  to  say,  "  Thank  God,  I  have  got  the  victory ! " 
They  did  not  know  what  he  meant.  But  he  meant 
the  victory  of  his  virtue  and  innocence  over  temp 
tation  ;  he  felt  now  that  they  were  safe,  and  it  was 
this  thought  which  at  that  awful  moment  turned  his 
pure  breast  into  a  fountain  of  joy.  What  a  scene  was 
that!  More  walking  in  triumph  before  that  fatal  axe, 
himself  the  only  happy  man  in  the  ghastly  proces 
sion  !  The  barge  receives  them,  and  bears  them  along 
the  silent  highway,  just  as  the  evening  sun  is  play 
ing  on  the  turrets  of  the  Tower.  There  is  a  crowd 
around  Traitor's  Gate ;  people  have  gathered  here  to 
look  a  farewell  into  the  most  honest  face  in  all 
England.  He  has  walked  up  the  stairs,  the  bloody 
axe  moving  close  before  him.  A  woman  springs 


FAITHFUL    MEG.  51 

from  the  crowd,  breaks  through  the  guard,  spite  of 
their  rods  and  halberds,  and  locks  her  arms  around 
the  prisoner's  neck,  and  shrieks,  "  My  father !  O  my 
father  ! "  It  is  faithful  Meg,  and  she  buries  her 
face  in  the  prisoner's  bosom  and  sobs  aloud.  He 
soothes  her  grief,  and  gently  pours  consolation  into 
her  breaking  heart,  the  officials  standing  still,  and 
not  daring  to  disturb  the  holy  scene.  She  breaks 
away  and  retreats ;  looks  back,  and  runs  again  and 
hangs  on  the  devoted  neck,  when  the  prisoner  for 
the  first  time  is  overcome,  and  weeps  like  a  little 
child.  Even  those  rough  men  have  to  let  go  their 
halberds,  and  wipe  from  their  iron  features  the  trick 
ling  tears. 

But  Traitor's  Gate  is  open;  the  jaws  of  the  great 
structure  have  closed  upon  the  prisoner,  and  we. 
cannot  follow  him  any  farther.  Along  with  faithful 
Meg,  we  take  a  farewell  look  of  a  man  who,  amid 
general  servility,  saw  clearly  the  supreme  and  all- 
beautiful  law,  and  obeyed  it,  —  a  man  whose  virtue 
no  interest  could  bribe,  and  whose  purpose  no  thun 
ders  could  shake ;  who  had  an  angel's  strength  and 
a  child's  simplicity ;  whose  affections  were  gentle 
as  the  evening,  and  whose  breast  was  purer  than 
snow. 


CHAPTER    VIII. 

A  GLIMPSE   OF  THE  NEW  POPE. 

LAWYER  LEACH  was  right.  Every  class  sub 
scribed,  from  Whitehall  down  to  Billingsgate,  from 
my  Lord  Chancellor  to  the  fishmongers,  from  my 
Lord  Bishop  to  the  begging  friars.  "  You  see," 
says  Leach,  "  that  the  chances  narrow  down.  You 
have  only  two  left,  to  subscribe  or  to  flee.  What 
course  will  you  take  ?  " 

"  The  shortest  course  possible  out  of  this  accursed 
city." 

"  Yes,  that  will  be  wise.  But  Cromwell's  hounds 
are  scouring  through  Essex.  They  wilf  be  in  Col 
chester  before  long,  and  your  family  will  be  among 
the  first  that  will  be  summoned  to  take  the  oath. 
I  am  certain  of  that." 

"  I  have  never  denied  the  supremacy,  I  believe." 

"  Doubtless,"  said  the  lawyer,  stroking  down 
the  top  of  his  head,  which  the  flies  were  walking 
over,  and  taking  sure  hold  of  for  fear  of  slipping; 
"  but  you  see  how  these  matters  are  decided.  They 
will  probably  want  somebody's  head  to  stick  up  in 
Colchester  Market.  They  would  n't  make  any  very 


A    GLIMPSE    OF    THE    NEW    POPE. 


53 


nice  distinctions,  if  they  thought  yours  would  an 
swer  the  purpose." 

"  Are  you  sure  they  will  come  to  Colchester  ?  " 

"  Yes,  a  justice  is  to  come  down  before  long  to 
administer  the  oath.  Perhaps  you  will  find  when 
you  get  into  Essex  that  the  net  has  gathered  you 
in  already." 

Richard  looked  up  his  groom,  and  ordered  him  to 
have  the  horses  ready  in  the  morning.  He  retired 
to  sleep ;  but  whenever  he  closed  his  eyes,  the  faces 
in  Westminster  Hall  were  before  him.  Once  and 
again  he  drove  them  away  into  the  darkness ;  but 
slowly  they  would  take  shape  and  come  up,  up, 
up,  and  glow  with  a  phosphorescent  light,  as  dis 
tinct  and  bright  as  ever.  But  he  kept  dashing  them 
off,  till  finally  they  all  vanished  but  two.  One  was 
a  pale  face,  with  a  mild,  clear  eye,  arched  round 
with  curves  that  twinkled  and  beamed  with  benevo 
lence  and  humor  ;  but  the  curves  came  and  went  in 
wavy  lines,  till  they  fixed  themselves  into  a  look  of 
meek  but  indescribable  anguish.  The  other  was  a 
great  red  face,  with  bull's  eyes  and  a  large  mouth ; 
and  the  eyes  sometimes  rolled  with  a  demoniac 
mirthfulness,  and  the  mouth  grinned  into  a  sardonic 
laugh.  These  two  faces  would  not  down  except  to 
come  back  again,  and  the  first  half  of  the  night 
was  spent  dashing  them  off  into  chaos,  and  seeing 
them  slowly  rise  out  of  it,  and  come  up,  up,  up,  as 
near  and  as  bright  as  ever. 

But  sleep  of  a  certain  kind  came  at  last,  and 
might  have  continued  for  a  long  time.  But  some 
body  has  walked  into  his  chamber,  somebody's  hand 

5* 


54  THE    EXILE. 

is  on  his  shoulder,  shaking  him  up ;  he  opens  his 
eyes,  and  the  broad  sunlight  is  in  the  room,  and  a 
large  face  of  real  flesh  and  blood,  but  full  of  human 
sunshine,  is  bent  over  him.  It  is  Job,  of  whom  the 
reader  will  know  more. 

"  Master  Richard,  it  is  late,  and  the  horses  are 
ready." 

"  Never  mind,  Job.  We  won't  hurry,  and  I  shall 
go  over  to  the  Bridge  before  we  start." 

To  the  Bridge  he  goes,  drawn  by  the  strange  fas 
cination  of  the  face  011  Traitor's  Tower,  into  which 
he  looks  for  the  last  time.  There  it  stands  again, 
benignant  as  ever,  coming  back  every  day  to  the 
manly  bloom  and  comeliness  of  which  age  had  be 
reft  it ;  sending  down  its  benediction  on  the  passers- 
by,  who  still  throng  thither  to  receive  it.*  But  while 
he  is  looking  up,  the  "  King's  Barge"  is  announced 
as  in  sight ;  and  there  it  is !  coming  up  the  river 

*  The  following  is  the  curious  account  of  this  prodigy,  as  given  by 
Hall,  the  biographer  of  Fisher  :  — 

"  The  head,  being  parboiled,  was  prickt  upon  a  pole,  and  set  on  high 
upon  London  Bridge,  among  the  rest  of  the  holy  Carthusians'  heads 
that  suffered  death  lately  before  him ;  and  here  I  cannot  omit  to  de 
clare  to  you  the  miraculous  sight  of  this  head,  which,  after  it  had  stood 
up  the  space  of  fourteen  days  upon  the  bridge,  could  not  be  perceived 
to  waste  or  consume,  neither  for  the  weather  which  was  then  very  hot, 
neither  for  the  parboiling  in  hot  water,  but  grew  daily  fresher  and 
fresher,  so  that  in  his  life  he  never  looked  so  well ;  for  his  cheeks  be 
ing  beautiful  with  a  comely  red,  the  face  looked  as  though  it  had  be 
holden  the  people  in  passing  by,  and  would  have  spoken  to  them. 
"Wherefore  the  people  coming  daily  to  see  this  strange  sight,  the  pas 
sage  over  the  bridge  was  so  stopped  with  the  going  and  coming,  that 
almost  neither  cart  nor  horse  could  pass  ;  and  therefore  at  the  end  of 
fourteen  days  the  executioner  was  ordered  to  throw  down  the  head  in 
the  night-time  into  the  Thames." 


A    GLIMPSE    OF    THE    NEW    POPE.  55 

from  Greenwich,  silken  banners  and  streamers  float 
ing  over  it  as  it  rows  up  the  "  silent  highway." 

In  these  times  the  Thames  was  the  principal 
means  of  communication  between  the  different 
parts  of  London,  and  between  London  and  the  sub 
urbs  up  and  down  the  river.  The  finest  streets  in 
the  city  were  those  which  ran  along  the  water's  side, 
where  a  long  row  of  splendid  mansions  and  palaces 
had  arisen,  and  where,  instead  of  his  stables,  his 
horses  and  carriages,  every  nobleman  had  his  barge 
and  bargemen,  his  wharf  and  wherry.  The  sight 
of  the  Thames  of  a  summer's  day  was  therefore 
wonderfully  lively  and  picturesque,  bearing  my 
lords  and  ladies  from  house  to  house,  to  the  after 
noon's  dance  or  masquerade,  the  bargemen  perhaps 
keeping  time  with  their  oars  to  music  and  song. 
This  too  was  the  royal  road  from  Greenwich  to 
Whitehall,  and  the  royal  barge  was  known  at  sight 
by  its  streamers  and  decorations.  Traitor's  Tower 
stood  on  one  of  the  piers  that  supported  the  draw 
bridge,  so  that  passengers  up  and  down  the  river 
might  have  all  the  benefit  of  the  spectacle,  and  sail 
right  under  the  blackening  visages  above. 

The  royal  barge  is  nearing  the  bridge,  and  the 
crowd  of  gazers  who  are  choking  the  street  at 
Traitor's  Tower  have  their  attention  drawn  away, 
and  the  sea  of  heads  is  instantly  uncovered.  And 
here  for  the  first  time  the  hero  of  our  narrative  gets 
sight  of  the  "  Supreme  Head  of  the  Church,"  to 
whose  features  Holbein  himself  found  it  pretty  hard 
to  give  a  flattering  touch.  The  "  Head  of  the 
Church  "  sits  looking  out  upon  the  water,  receiving 


56  THE    EXILE. 

with  slight  notice  the  homage  from  the  boats  that 
glide  by.  Passing  through  the  draw,  he  looks  up  at 
the  seven  days'  wonder  which  has  kept  the  whole 
city  astir  for  a  week  or  more,  and  on  account  of 
which  the  Privy  Council  have  once  been  summoned 
together.  His  dull,  red,  rheumy  eye,  his  cheeks  bloat 
ed  and  hanging,  and  blotched  with  scrofula,  reveal 
nothing  of  superstitious  wonder,  but  enough  of  lust, 
beastliness,  and  gluttony  to  make  one  marvel  how 
there  could  be  so  much  room  for  the  demon  where 
there  was  so  much  of  the  brute.  The  "  new  He- 
rodias  "  was  there  also,  invested  with  all  the  inter 
est  of  recent  maternity. 

She  who  had  urged  on  the  execution  of  Fisher, 
and  to  whom  his  head  was  sent  that  she  might  feast 
her  eyes  upon  it  before  it  was  set  up  on  the  bridge,  — 
she  who  was  still  plying  all  her  woman's  arts  for  the 
destruction  of  More,  and  keeping  the  devil  from 
sleeping  in  the  mind  of  the  glutton  King,  —  she  is 
there  too,  stretching  her  "  little  neck "  out  of  the 
silk  awning  and  the  tapestry  of  starred  blue  and 
purple,  so  blended  as  to  represent  the  sky  at  dawn  ; 
and  she  is  looking  up  with  a  woman's  curiosity  to 
see  the  new  London  sight  on  the  bridge. 

She  looks,  laughs,  curves  her  little  neck  round, 
and  ogles  with  her  maids,  in  whose  arms  dangles  the 
lion-hearted  Queen  Bess  that  is  to  be  ;  she  plies  the 
King  with  jokes  and  pleasantries,  among  which  was 
this,  —  that  Fisher  had  kept  watch  up  there  so  long 
that  his  old  eyes  were  getting  dim,  and  that  More 
had  better  come  and  take  his  place.  The  King 
looks  complacently  upon  his  queen,  laughs  wanton 


A    GLIMPSE    OF    THE    NEW    POPE.  57 

out  of  his  rheumy  eyes,  and  shakes  merrily  his 
"  huge  parcel  of  dropsies,"  —  and  so  the  barge  pass 
es  on.  Poor  Anne  !  you  have  a  heart  of  marble  un 
der  a  pretty  face,  and  older  and  wiser  people  than 
you  are  slow  to  learn  that  those  who  evoke  the 
demon  in  others  may  be  devoured  by  the  demon ! 
Sayer  looks  long  after  the  royal  barge,  the  swans 
swimming  in  flocks  before  it,  till  the  sound  of  the 
oars  and  the  music  to  which  they  keep  time  have 
died  away,  and  only  a  red-gleaming  speck  is  seen 
nearing  the  wherry-stairs  of  Whitehall.  "  And  this 
is  the  new  Pope!"  he  said  to  himself,  and  hastened 
back  to  St.  Clement's  Inn. 


CHAPTER    IX. 

TO  COLCHESTER. 

JOB  was  waiting  with  the  horses.  They  mount 
and  pass  Temple  Bar  into  Fleet  Street,  thence 
down  the  Old  Bailey,  cross  over  Smithfield  Square, 
turn  and  look  at  the  spot  in  the  centre  burnt  black 
with  roasted  Lollards,  shudder  and  cross  over  into 
Bishopgate  Street,  and  the  city  is  soon  behind 
them,  with  its  death's-heads,  and,  what  is  wprse, 
its  visages  of  unmerciful  men.  Its  distracting  noises 
have  all  died  in  the  distance  ;  it  is  folded  into  its 
own  fog  and  smoke,  its  blood  and  sin,  and  the 
broad,  open  fields  of  Essex  are  before  them,  fanned 
with  buxom  air. 

It  is  time  the  reader  knew  something  of  Job. 
Retiring  «s  he  is  in  his  habits,  we  shall  not  get  on 
any  longer  without  his  company,  which  will  be 
found  of  considerable  importance  to  at  least  three 
individuals.  Job  was  an  heirloom  in  the  Sayer 
family,  and  now  filled  the  offices  of  porter  and  chief 
butler,  besides  being  superintendent  of  things  in 
general.  Where  there  was  any  matter  that  required 
great  carefulness  and  perfect  trust,  Job  was  always 


TO    COLCHESTER.  59 

in  request.  If  anybody  was  sick,  Job  was  the  chief 
nurse ;  and  he  had  closed  the  dying  eyes  of  at  least 
four  members  of  the  family.  He  was  verging  now 
towards  his  seventieth  year,  but  he  was  hale  as  ever ; 
his  hair  of  iron-gray  stood  up  stiff  on  the  top  of  his 
head,  which  gave  him  an  independent  and  sturdy 
look,  and,  though  age  had  abstracted  something 
from  his  once  florid  countenance,  yet  the  ruddy 
clover  had  retreated  to  the  centre  of  his  cheek, 
where  it  blossomed  out  fresh  as  ever,  from  amid  the 
encroaching  snows  of  threescore  and  ten.  His 
rather  bluff  and  granitic  exterior  might  conceal  from 
a  stranger  the  rills  of  tenderness  that  were  always 
trickling  down  his  heart,  unless  indeed  they  brimmed 
over  in  his  eyes  and  adown  the  clover  of  his  cheeks, 
which  they  were  rather  apt  to  do.  Within  his  jo 
vial  and  sunny  nature  there  was  a  vein  of  plaintive 
tunefulness,  which,  in  the  long  leisure  hours  of  the 
porter's  lodge,  found  scope  and  exercise  in  hum 
ming  snatches  of  old  song.  Along  with  this  he  had 
a  keen  sense  of  the-  ludicrous,  and  a  broad  and 
never-failing  good-humor,  and  if  he  looked  upon 
other  people's  faults  and  blunders  with  other  feel 
ings  than  commiseration,  it  was  only  that  he 
might  distil .  out  of  them  a  little  amusement  for 
himself. 

Job  for  a  great  many  years  had  belonged  to  the 
tenantry  of  the  Sayer  estates ;  but  the  cloud  came 
over  his  household  from  which  the  bolt  of  death 
had  dropped  four  times  into  his  family,  and  his 
wife  and  three  out  of  his  four  children  had  slept  for 
years  together  in  a  humble  corner  of  the  village 


- 

60  THE    EXILE. 

churchyard.  But  fortune  had  left  him  that  untold 
and  priceless  treasure,  whether  of  the  poor  man's 
cot  or  the  rich  man's  hall,  an  only  daughter.  His 
dear  Charlotte  had  not  quite  left  him  so  long  as  he 
had  her  miniature  in  little  Lottie.  Lottie  had  now 
largely  developed  into  the  woman ;  but  to  her 
father  she  was  always  a  child,  for  she  still  sat  upon 
his  knee,  smoothed  his  brow,  and  kept  the  wrinkles 
from  gathering  there ;  laid  her  warm,  dimpled  cheek 
upon  his  to  keep  the  clover-blossom  fresh ;  listened 
to  his  songs,  and  sung  them  after  him  with  a 
twinkling  humor  and  drollery  in  the  eye  which  she 
must  have  caught  from  him  ;  printed  every  evening 
her  fervent  kiss  upon  his  forehead,  and  gave  him  her 
loving  "  Good  night "  ;  became  to  him  all  his  other 
children  in  one,  while  he  was  to  her  father  and 
mother  and  sister  and  brother;  so  that  Job's  af 
fections  were  preserved  young  and  healthful,  and 
bloomed  under  the  snows  of  age  like  an  everlasting 
rose. 

Job  and  Lottie  had  been  domesticated  in  the 
family  of  Richard  ever  since  his  marriage  ;  she  was 
the  favorite  maid  of  her  mistress,  and  had  become 
indispensable  to  her  comfort.  If  the  glooms  ever 
gathered  about  the  kitchen,  they  were  sure  to  get 
dissipated,  either  by  Job's  songs,  or  by  the  laughter 
in  the  dimpling  cheeks  of  Lottie,  or  the  broad  beam 
ings  of  her  mirthful  nature.  And  if  there  is  sun 
shine  in  the  kitchen,  then,  so  far  as  our  experience 
goes,  it  is  apt  to  pervade  the  whole  house,  from 
cellar  to  attic.  So  much,  for  the  present,  of  Job  and 
Lottie,  of  whom  perhaps  we  shall  hear  again  when 
we  get  to  Colchester. 


TO    COLCHESTER.  61 

Pleasant  enough  it  was  to  look  over  the  broad, 
level  fields  of  Essex,  where  the  sturdy  yeomen  were 
busy  with  their  summer  labors,  and  sweet  was  the 
breeze  that  came  from  the  hay-fields  to  fan  the  faces 
of  the  travellers.  But  our  two  travellers,  though 
jogging  along  side  by  side,  have  not  precisely  the 
same  reflections. 

We  are  apt  to  suppose  that  martyrs  are  composed 
of  different  stuff  from  other  people ;  that  God  has 
them  on  hand  ready  made,  and  that  it  costs  them 
no  great  effort  to  suffer  and  die.  Alas!  the  long, 
deep,  and  silent  agony,  more  terrible  than  death, 
the  desperate  grapplings  and  wrestlings  that  precede 
victory,  we  do  not  know ;  and  the  reason  why  death 
at  last  is  met  so  serenely  is,  that  the  martyr  comes 
to  it  out  of  a  more  dreadful  anguish.  The  scene 
of  Gethsemane  comes  first,  and  O  the  agony  till  its 
victory  is  accomplished!  The  struggle  had  been 
growing  more  and  more  desperate  in  the  mind  of 
Richard,  and  now  it  is  upon  him  in  its  desperate 
energy. 

"  After  all,"  he  says  to  himself,  "  the  lawyer  is 
right.  Who  am  I,  to  stand  up  alone  against  the 
opinions  of  all  mankind  ?  I  begin  to  see  clearly  the 
distinction  between  the  res  in  animo  and  the  res 
gesta.  We  must  conform  outwardly  to  such  times 
as  these,  and  let  God's  great  truth  retreat  far  into 
the  silent  recesses  of  our  thoughts,  and  there  be  kept 
safe  and  bide  its  time.  Am  I  the  man  to  stand  out 
when  all  the  bishops  and  lords  have  given  in? 
Those  that  comply  with  the  powers  that  be,  and 
the  necessities  of  to-day,  are  blest  and  smiled  upon, 

6 


62  THE    EXILE. 

and  come  to  honor  and  length  of  days.  Does  God 
ask  his  faithful  ones  to  burn  with  Lollards  and  her 
etics,  when  a  single  thunderbolt  of  his  could  give 
them  the  victory  ?  " 

And  then  there  was  a  lower  deep. 

"After  all,  what  are  virtue  and  integrity  but  a 
name?  Other  people  act  according  to  their  self- 
interest,  and  why  should  not  I  ?  This  servility,  that 
has  come  over  the  nation  like  a  flood,  bears  all  with 
it,  except  a  few  crazy  people  like  the  Maid  of  Kent 
and  John  Lambert.  Christianity  has  been  preached 
in  this  island  now  five  hundred  years,  in  all  the 
churches  and  convents,  and  yet  it  is  a  thing  which 
the  King  can  turn  and  fashion  into  whatever  he 
pleases.  The  King?  No,  not  the  King,  but  Nan 
Boleyn,  or  any  vile  woman  he  happens  to  lust  for. 
Protestantism!  Catholicism!  one  or  the  other, 
through  all  this  realm,  from  bishops  down  to  chim 
ney-sweeps,  according  to  the  notions  of  the  King's 
mistress!  And  that  is  religion,  and  that  is  con 
science,  —  a  name  and  a  sound !  " 

And  there  was  a  lower  deep  still. 

"  It  is  all,  then,  a  cheat  and  a  mockery !  There 
is  nothing  real  and  substantial  but  beef  and  mut 
ton  and  ale !  The  providence  that  rules  in  human 
affairs  is  the  royal  concubine,  and  the  God  we 
trusted  in  can  be  voted  out  of  the  state  by  the  Par 
liament  of  a  glutton  king !  It  is  a  mere  matter  of 
forms  and  conveniences,  and  the  name  of  God  is 
nothing  but  a  bugbear  for  kings  or  popes,  as  the 
case  may  be,  to  scare  human  animals  and  keep 
them  in  the  right  enclosures." 


TO    COLCHESTER.  63 

And  then  the  sky  above  shut  over  him  like  a  cov 
er,  and  all  was  empty  beyond.  Beneath  it  the  owls 
of  Atheism  hooted  in  mockery  of  human  hopes. 

"  What  we  can  see  and  touch  and  taste  is,  and 
that  is  all ;  and  let  us  hasten  to  conform  to  it. 
We  die  to-morrow,  and  then  we  rot!  Over  all 
graves  alike  the  obscene  birds  scream  and  stretch 
their  black  wings,  but  there  is  no  cheerful  sound  that 
comes  from  above  them!  No  virtue,  no  religion, 
no  God  in  this  world,  and  we  only  animals,  driven 
to  the  crib  or  to  the  shambles  at  the  convenience  of 
kings  and  popes !  O,  why  was  I  born,  or  why  did 
I  not  die,  ere  I  found  out  that  religion  was  a  trick ; 
that  this  whole  word  is  a  jail,  and  kings  and  priests 
are  the  jailers ;  that  overhead  there  is  nothing  but  a 
copper  sky,  and  under  foot  nothing  but  graves!" 

There  is  something  awful  in  the  grief  of  manhood. 
Things  are  very  much  out  of  course  when  strong 
men  weep.  He  tried  to  beckon  off  the  giant  shad 
ows,  but  they  came  thicker  and  colder ;  he  strug 
gled  against  the  might  that  was  urging  him  down 
the  abyss,  but  in  vain ;  and  his  stout  frame  was 
convulsed  with  the  conflict,  and  the  big  tears  found 
their  way,  at  last,  down  his  quivering  features. 

Job  had  not  spoken  a  word.  He  saw  the  conflict 
coming  on,  he  guessed  something  of  its  nature,  and 
that  it  was  too  terrible  for  his  philosophy.  With 
characteristic  delicacy  he  retired  from  the  scene  of 
it.  He  reined  in  his  horse  and  fell  in  the  rear,  rid 
ing  on  in  silence  and  awe. 

So  they  journeyed  through  the  farms  of  Essex, 
jogging  on  at  first  in  funereal  mood.  Green  fields 


64  THE    EXILE. 

and  large  farm-yards  passed  them,  great  barns  open 
to  receive  their  summer  treasures,  and  neat  houses 
looking  through  the  cooling  umbrage,  as  cheerfully 
as  if  they  knew  nothing  of  the  sulphurous  cloud 
resting  on  higher  places,  from  which  the  thunders 
were  growling.  Job  began  to  prick  up  and  sympa 
thize  with  the  scene  he  was  passing  through,  and 
with  the  sounds  of  hale  and  cheerful  industry  that 
broke  from  the  fields  and  from  every  side,  uncon 
scious  of  the  reign  of  terror.  He  ventured,  at  length, 
into  a  hum-drum  tune,  though  on  a  lower  and  more 
reverent  key,  as  if  afraid  to  disturb  the  awful  strug 
gle  that  was  going  on.  Richard  had  not  noticed 
the  tuning  of  Job ;  but  at  length,  in  a  short  truce 
between  his  conflicts,  the  hum-drum  emerged  into 
clear,  articulate  song :  — 

"  The  cot  is  surer  than  the  hall, 

In  proof  we  daily  see, 
For  highest  things  doe  soonest  fall 
From  their  felicitie. 

"  When  God  drops  down  his  thundering  bolts 

Our  vices  to  redresse, 
They  batter  down  the  highest  holtes, 
But  touch  not  once  the  lesse. 

"  0  you  may  hear  the  pine  to  crack 

That  bears  his  head  so  hie, 
And  loftie  lugs  go  then  to  wrack, 
Which  sccme  to  touch  the  skie. 

"  When  wrastling  windcs  —  hum  —  hum  —  hum  —  " 

They  had  travelled  all  day,  and  the  sun  was  wheel 
ing  down  the  horizon  through  a  haze  of  bloody  red, 
when  the  plaintive  sound  of  a  chapel-bell  came 


TO    COLCHESTER.  65 

throbbing  through  the  air.  They  reach  the  top  of 
the  hill  and  the  monastery  is  in  sight.  On  one  side 
of  the  building  was  a  grove,  in  which  were  walks  that 
led  through  green  arcades  to  an  oratory  on  the  sum 
mit  of  the  hill ;  on  the  other  side  there  was  a  large, 
open  field,  on  which  a  herd  of  kine  lay  ruminating, 
grateful  enough  for  the  cool  of  the  day.  On  one 
side  of  an  open  court  was  the  refectory  of  the  mon 
astery,  on  the  opposite  side  the  chapel,  and  across 
the  green  that  interspaced  them  the  monks  in  their 
cowls  were  walking  two  and  two,  and  entering  the 
chapel  at  the  sound  of  vespers.  Richard  woke  sud 
denly  to  a  consciousness  of  where  he  was.  The  fields 
of  Colchester  were  around  him,  for  he  had  arrived 
at  St.  John's  Abbey ;  he  was  in  no  mood  to  see  his 
family,  and  he  alighted,  and  giving  the  reins  to  Job, 
u  Take  home  the  horses.  Tell  the  folks  they  will 
see  me  soon,  and  that  I  am  well ;  but  don't  blab  of 
my  whereabouts."  Job  left  his  "  Good  night,"  and 
rode  off  droning  to  himself, 

"  Every  white  will  have  its  black, 
And  every  sweet  its  sour." 

And  Richard  waited  upon  the  chapel-green  till  ves 
pers  were  over,  and  then  threw  himself  into  the 
arms  of  Father  Bache. 


CHAPTER    X. 

GHOSTLY  COUNSEL. 

HENRY  had  already  suppressed  a  portion  of  the 
monasteries,  and  doomed  the  rest.  When  uncov 
ered  to  the  light,  they  revealed  frightful  masses  of 
corruption,  that  had  passed  into  the  stage  of  putres 
cence;  sensuality,  laziness,  and  hypocrisy  had  got 
quiet  lodgement  within  them.  But  this  was  not  all. 
In  times  of  public  violence,  persecution,  and  venali 
ty,  they  had  nourished  the  best  virtue  and  the  most 
heavenly  piety  that  could  be  found  in  the  land. 
What  pure  mind  has  not  sighed  for  such  a  retreat 
when  sick  of  human  selfishness,  —  when  society 
itself  is  falsely  arranged  and  lies  with  a  crushing 
weight  on  individual  virtue,  —  when  vice  is  hon 
ored  and  rewarded,  and  honesty  is  in  disgrace  and 
starves  ?  Then  away  from  the  scene  of  cringing 
venality  or  outrageous  oppression,  to  retire  and 
contemplate  the  serene  Almighty  Justice  and  be 
caught  up  and  rapt  in  its  beautiful  splendors !  So 
at  least  many  had  done,  and  we  are  not  sure  even 
now  that  the  monasteries  had  not  their  full  share 
of  the  goodness  that  saved  the  world  from  becom 
ing  an  abandoned  Sodom  of  scoundrels. 


GHOSTLY    COUNSEL.  67 

The  monasteries  in  those  days  did  the  office  of 
country  inns,  and  were  always  open  to  the  weary 
traveller.  But  Richard  had  other  reasons  for  stop 
ping  now.  Father  Bache  was  a  noted  character  all 
the  country  round,  —  noted  for  his  wisdom  and  fore 
cast  as  well  as  his  sympathizing  benevolence.  He 
had  a  seat  in  Parliament,  moreover,  and  he  knew 
pretty  well  the  shape  of  the  coming  storm.*  This 
was  not  the  first  time  that  Richard  had  thrown 
himself  upon  his  counsels. 

Slowly  and  demurely  the  monks  are  filing  back 
after  their  evening  orisons,  when  Richard  watches 
for  the  benignant  old  man,  and  throws  himself 
upon  his  bosom.  He  begins  to  state  his  troubles. 

"  Say  nothing,  my  son,"  said  Father  Bache. 
"  Stone  walls  have  ears  in  these  times ;  and  besides 
I  know  your  whole  case.  Go  in  and  refresh  your 
self,  and  then  we  will  counsel  together.  Your  heart 
and  your  flesh  I  see  are  both  weary.  After  night 
fall  I  will  talk  with  you." 

Richard  had  eaten  such  fare  as  was  placed  be 
fore  him,  and  sat  in  the  refectory  looking  out  upon 
the  green,  till  twilight  had  flung  its  last  fading  rose- 
colors  over  the  earth  and  sky.  Then  Father  Bache 
appeared  before  him,  and  beckoned  him  to  follow. 
They  walked  out  through  a  back  door  of  the  mon 
astery,  and  were  soon  in  a. path  that  led  through 
the  grove  on  the  brow  of  the  hill.  The  moon  had 

*  The  number  of  abbots  who  were  "  parliamentary  barons " 
varied,  but  was  finally  fixed  at  twenty-six,  who  represented  the 
principal  monasteries.  St.  John's,  Colchester,  was  entitled  to  one. 
Fuller,  Vol.  II.  p.  182. 


68  THE    EXILE. 

arisen,  and  on  the  clear  silver  sheen  which  it  spread 
over  the  earth,  the  trees  seemed  "  writing  out 
words  "  as  they  waved,  and  their  leaves  fluttered 
gently  in  the  evening  wind.  They  reached  the 
oratory,  which  stood  in  an  open  space,  when  the  old 
abbot  laid  his  hand  upon  the  shoulder  of  his  guest 
and  looked  round. 

"  Sit  down,  we  are  only  heard  here  by  God 
and  good  angels,  and  only  watched  by  the  holy 
stars." 

"  Have  you  heard,  Father,  that  More  was  con 
victed  and  sentenced  ?  " 

"  I  have  not  heard,  but  I  knew  he  was  to  die." 

"  And  did  you  know  that  all  the  Catholics  were 
subscribing  the  oath,  and  that  Gardiner  and  all  the 
bishops  have  temporized  and  given  in  ?  " 

"  I  knew  that  the  evil  day  had  come,  and  that 
God  was  about  to  purge  his  floor.  What  I  want 
to  say  to  you  is,  that  a  commissioner  is  coming 
shortly  to  Colchester,  and  that  all  your  kinsfolk  will 
subscribe  the  oath.  You  will  be  specially  called 
upon,  for  you  are  suspected  of  contumacy,  and  Rich 
has  you  in  his  eye." 

"  Well,  I  can't  pretend  to  be  better  than  the  whole 
world,  bishops  and  all  the  rest.  To  tell  the  truth, 
good  Father,  this  universal  servility  oppresses  me 
with  terrible  doubts,  and  spite  of  myself  all  confi 
dence  in  God  and  man  is  gliding  out  of  me.  If 
we  only  knew  of  the  blessed  inheritance,  we  could 
die  for  it  cheerfully.  But  this  world  seems  to  me 
nothing  but  a  chaos,  and  human  virtue  nothing  but 


GHOSTLY    COUNSEL.  69 

"  My  son,"  said  the  old  man,  his  features  kind 
ling  with  prophetic  fire,  "  you  are  young  and  I  am 
old.  I  have  passed  through  many  a  crisis  like 
yours,  and  many  a  time  have  I  wrestled  like  Jacob 
with  the  Lord,  and  prevailed.  You  stand  now  right 
at  the  point  where  the  road  parts  into  two  ways, 
and  I  will  tell  you  just  where  each  will  lead  you. 
Subscribe,  as  all  your  kinsfolk  will,  and  you  will 
have  your  reward.  You  will  have  large  estates, 
friends,  honors ;  the  sense  of  perjury  will  not  trouble 
you  a  great  while  ;  you  will  wax  fat  and  gross,  and 
live  long,  and  the  world  will  envy  your  success. 
You  can  refuse  to  subscribe ;  and  that  way  lie 
loss  of  friends,  a  father's  curse,  prisons,  exile,  pri 
vations,  death,  —  death  on  the  block  it  may  be, — or 
what  is  worse,  death  in  small  doses,  the  cup  drained 
drop  by  drop  to  the  bitter  dregs.  But  that  way 
too  there  is  a  vision  of  the  opening  and  enclos 
ing  heavens,  and  a  growing  consciousness  of  the 
Great  Presence  which  comes  like  another  sun. 
These  make  the  body  and  all  its  pains  and  pleas 
ures  contemptible,  while  immortality  this  side  Jor 
dan  is  almost  possessed  and  realized." 

"If  I  only  had  that." 

"  Ah  !  but  you  must  pay  the  price  of  it.  It  is  the 
great  reward  of  self-sacrifice.  It  comes  after  the 
sacrifice,  not  before." 

"  And  has  it  come  to  you  at  last,  good  Fa 
ther?" 

"  Do  you  think  I  have  given  up  forty  years  to  a 
contemplation  of  the  Divine  glories,  without  know 
ing  something  of  what  lies  within  and  beyond  the 


70  THE    EXILE. 

senses?  Not  three  days  ago  I  was  praying  here 
under  the  midnight  stars,  and  it  seemed  to  me  that 
my  inmost  spirit  lay  open  and  naked  under  celes 
tial  things.  The  heavenly  world  was  imaged  so 
brightly  on  my  spirit,  that  I  thought  I  could  see  the 
future  in  the  present,  and  I  know  that  my  days 
are  numbered,  and  that  my  enemies  will  quarter 
this  body  and  give  it  to  the  fowls  of  the  air.  Bat  I 
have  lived  so  much  out  of  the  body,  that  I  can 
look  down  upon  it  as  if  I  had  already  left  it,  and 
were  within  the  enfolding  heavens." 

The  moon  shone  over  the  rapt  features  of  the 
old  abbot,  tinging  his  locks  with  a  more  brilliant 
silver,  and  he  seemed  almost  free  of  the  body  and 
full  of  immortality,  —  a  living  and  tangible  evidence 
of  the  realities  of  another  world.  As  they  walked 
slowly  towards  the  monastery,  he  leaned  on  the  arm 
of  his  guest,  and  discoursed  to  him  of  the  aspect  of 
affairs,  seeming  to  look  down  through  the  future  as 
one  not  of  this  world,  but  already  out  of  it  and 
above  it,  and  surveying  its  fore  and  after  scenes  as 
one  traces  from  some  mountain  height  the  windings 
of  a  river  below.  There  was  a  prophet  tone  in  his 
speech,  and  Richard  listened  with  awe.  Arriving 
at  the  monastery,  they  passed  through  the  "  locu- 
torium,"  where  the  abbot  gave  his  guest  his  good 
night  and  his  blessing,  as  the  latter  went  into  his 
room  in  the  dormitory.  The  "  locutory "  was  so 
called,  as  the  place  where  the  monks  assembled  at 
stated  times  for  conversation.  On  the  walls  hung 
two  pictures  of  Raphael,  one  was  Christ  bearing  his 
cross,  the  other 


GHOSTLY    COUNSEL.  71 

"  the  Virgin  Mother  blest 
To  whom,  caressing  and  caressed, 
Clings  the  Eternal  Child." 

Richard  left  the  door  ajar  as  he  retired,  and,  lying 
upon  his  pillow,  gazed  upon  the  first-named  picture, 
as  the  pale  moonlight  rested  upon  it  and  retouched 
the  features  that  seemed  aglow  with  the  beamings 
of  a  divine  and  majestic  patience.  And  when  he 
closed  his  eyes  at  last,  the  face  seen  on  Traitor's 
Tower  was  before  him,  and  beyond  that  long  files 
of  other  faces,  —  of  those  who  had  come  out  of  great 
tribulation,  but  who  now  wore  crowns  and  held 
palms  in  their  hands, — files  that  grew  brighter  as 
they  ascended  far  away  to  where  they  ended  with 
a  brow  bleeding  and  crowned  with  thorns  ;  but  the 
thorns  changed  into  radiating  sunbeams,  whose 
pencillings  darted  down  over  all  the  rest ;  and  then 
the  words  that  dropped  from  the  Traitor's  Tower 
were  audible  again.  Gradually  the  faces  grew  dim, 
and  more  dim  ;  the  radiating  thorns  have  melted 
away,  and  the  tempted  man  is  in  profound  sleep  at 

last. 

#####• 

There  is  music  somewhere.  He  comes  back 
gradually  to  his  outward  senses.  The  morning 
light  is  resting  on  the  picture  of  Christ  in  the 
locutory.  The  monks  are  at  their  matins. 

Richard  rises  and  dresses  himself  in  haste,  and 
passes  though  the  court  into  the  chapel.  The 
monks  are  assembled.  The  old  abbot  is  on  the 
right  side  of  the  "  choir  "  with  his  moiety  of  monks, 
and  the  prior  is  on  the  left  with  his  moiety,  and 


72  THE    EXILE. 

they  are  chanting  their  responsals.  It  is  a  place 
calculated  to  inspire  devotion.  Beneath  the  mosaic 
floor,  with  its  mural  monuments,  the  sainted  dead 
are  in  their  last  holy  repose.  Back  of  the  high 
altar  is  a  picture  of  Christ  in  his  last  agony.  In 
one  of  the  transepts  is  a  shrine  of  the  patron  saint 
enriched  with  various  offerings,  and  in  a  niche 
above  it  is  an  exquisite  sculpture  of  St.  John  done 
by  Italian  masters,  whose  mouth  and  lips  have  an 
infantile  sweetness  and  almost  womanly  tenderness, 
and  whose  higher  features  seem  radiant  with  visions 
of  eternal  things.  The  prayers  and  responsals  be 
ing  over,  the  monks,  led  by  the  abbot  and  prior, 
walk  two  and  two,  kneel  in  turn  at  the  shrine  of 
St.  John,  and  pass  into  the  court,  followed  by  our 
wayfaring  traveller.  There  he  greets  warmly  the 
old  abbot,  and  embraces  him  as  if  taking  his  leave. 

ic  Nay."  said  the  abbot,  "  you  are  not  going  this 
morning.  You  are  to  stay  here  for  a  few  days,  and 
let  the  storm  reach  Colchester  before  you.  It  will 
be  there  soon,  for  a  commissioner  will  go  down 
to-morrow.  Wait  the  order  of  events  a  little,  and 
shape  your  course  by  them  You  are  running  right 
into  the  lion's  jaws  if  you  go  now." 

Richard  tarried  a  few  days  at  the  monastery,  drink 
ing  in  the  old  abbot's  counsels,  walking  with  him 
through  the  long  avenues  of  oak  and  chestnut,  and 
discoursing  on  the  highest  themes  under  their  sooth 
ing  shades,  seeming  to  himself  to  have  come  to  an 
islet  of  peace  that  reposed  in  an  angry  sea,  but 
where  the  noise  of  the  billows  is  only  heard  as  far 
off  and  dreamy  murmurs. 


GHOSTLY    COUNSEL.  73 

One  sweet  and  quiet  morning,  when  it  seemed 
as  if  there  could  be  no  more  storms  in  the  whole 
beautiful  world,  he  knelt  and  prayed  for  the  last 
time  before  the  Divine  Sufferer  on  the  canvas  of 
Raphael,  and  took  his  leave  of  the  kind-hearted  old 
man. 

"  Farewell  for  ever!"  said  the  good  father. 

Richard  noticed  a  plaintive  foreboding  in  his 
tone. 


CHAPTER    XL 


PORTRAITS. 

IF  the  reader  will  pause  with  us  here  a  moment, 
we  shall  learn  at  one  glance  the  precise  state  of 
things  at  what  is  usually  regarded  the  dawn  of  the 
"  English  Reformation."  And  in  order  to  this  there 
are  three  or  four  faces  which  will  come  up,  and 
which  we  must  take  a  look  at  as  they  pass  by  us.  • 

Writers  of  history  generally  give  us  the  impres 
sion,  that  at  this  era  there  were  only  two  parties 
struggling  for  supremacy,  —  the  Catholic  and  the 
Protestant.  That  certainly  is  a  mistake.  There 
was  a  third  party,  and  a  very  important  one,  which 
at  this  time  figures  largely  in  the  history  of  Eng 
land.  They  were  those  who  held  Roman  Catholic 
opinions  entire,  —  the  mass,  auricular  confession, 
consubstantiation,  clerical  celibacy,  purgatory,  saint- 
worship,  masses  for  the  dead,  —  but  who  had  re 
nounced  the  Pope  and  taken  Henry  for  their  head. 
These  men  an  elegant  female  writer  terms  Henri- 
cans,  for  want  of  a  better  name.  They  were  men 
who  adhered  to  the  reigning  power  through  thick 
and  thin,  and  did  all  its  behests,  partly  from  that 


PORTRAITS.  75 

brute  conservatism  that  dreads  the  spontaneous 
movements  of  the  human  mind  as  tending  to  an 
archy,  and  partly  because  place  and  patronage  lay 
in  the  path  of  conformity.  From  these  three  ten 
dencies  of  opinion,  Protestant,  Roman,  and  Henri- 
can,  thus  early  and  distinctly  marked,  the  three 
divisions  were  ultimately  developed  of  Dissenters, 
Catholics,  and  Church-of-England-men. 

First  and  chief  among  the  Henricans  stood  STE 
PHEN  GARDINER,  a  man  of  rare  talents  and  energies, 
an  able  financier,  and  of  large  and  statesmanlike 
abilities.  He  was  a  member  of  the  King's  Privy 
Council.  He  held  implicitly  all  the  doctrines  of  the 
Papacy,  while  he  rejected  the  Pope's  authority,  and 
wrote  against  it.  He  was  zealous  in  carrying  out 
all  the  measures  of  the  Henrican  Church,  and  estab 
lishing  and  consolidating  its  authority.  He  joined 
hands  with  Cranmer  in  divorcing  the  King  from  his 
first  and  excellent  queen ;  and  when  his  last  queen, 
the  gentle  Katharine  Parr,  who  united  in  her  person 
the  rare  accomplishments  of  the  scholar,  the  sweet 
est  graces  of  the  woman,  and  the  adorning  virtues 
of  the  Christian,  was  suspected  of  holding  Lutheran 
opinions,  Gardiner  exhausted  all  his  infernal  though 
baffled  ingenuity  to  alienate  the  King  from  her,  and 
bring  her  down  from  the  throne  to  a  dishonored  and 
bloody  grave.  His  faoe  by  Holbein  is  before  us. 
It  has  a  bulldog's  eye  and  a  wolfish  visage  and  a 
sinister  expression,  that  warrant  the  remark  com 
mon  with  his  contemporaries,  that,  "  like  Hebrew, 
he  was  to  be  read  backward."  It  was  said  that  he 
was  not  originally  a  bad  man,  nor  void  of  natural 


76 


THE    EXILE. 


humanity.  But  it  is  the  sure  result  with  those  who 
attempt  to  execute  or  defend  polluted  law,  that  they 
become  themselves  polluted,  and  that  the  spirit  of 
the  law,  with  all  its  devils  of  cruelty,  enters  into 
them.  Gardiner  became  a  Catholic  again  in  the 
reign  of  Mary,  and  her  prime  minister,  renounced 
the  doctrines  of  his  book,  «  De  Vera  et  Falsa  Obe- 
dientia,"  and  gratified  to  the  full  his  bulldog  pro 
pensities  by  hunting  down  Protestant  bishops  and 
burning  them  in  slow  fires. 

There  was  a  man  by  the  name  of  THOMAS  WRI- 
OTHESLEY,  another  minister  of  Henry  and  member 
of  his  Privy  Council,  a  Henrican  of  the  genuine 
stamp,  and  co-worker  with  Gardiner  —  "  par  nobile 
fratrum"  —  in  snuffing  a  trail  for  human  victims. 
He  was  a  dry  business  man,  hard  and  repulsive  in 
his  manners.  Lord  Campbell,  in  his  Lives  of  the 
Chancellors,  calls  him  "conscientious,"  which 
means,  we  suppose,  that  he  was  ever  faithful  to  the 
head  of  his  Church,  and  enforced  all  the  measures 
of  Henry  and  the  laws  of  his  Parliament  with  scru 
pulous  exactness.  That  was  the  creed  which  he 
never  questioned  ;  and  the  living  hearts  and  shrink 
ing  nerves  which  he  crushed  and  wrung  in  enfor 
cing  it  upon  others,  were  things  with  which  he  had 
nothing  to  do  ;  or  rather  they  gave  zest  to  the  work 
of  hunting  down  men  and  women,  just  as  the  flutter- 
ings  of  the  bird  give  zest  to  the  sport  of  the  fowler. 
Katharine  Howard,  the  King's  fifth  queen,  was 
but  just  out  of  her  girlhood  when  she  was  called  to 
share  the  tyrant's  throne.  Some  indiscretions  which 
she  had  fallen  into  when  an  unprotected  orphan 


PORTRAITS.  77 

girl,  but  which  afterwards  she  had  had  the  womanly 
virtue  to  forsake  entirely,  were  dug  up  and  brought 
to  the  hungry  ears  of  Wriotnesley  and  Cranmer. 
Straightway  they  pursued  the  gentle  and  amiable 
woman  with  wily  but  determined  cruelty,  and  were 
at  last  gratified  when  her  head  rolled  upon  the 
scaffold,  and  her  mangled  body  rested  with  other 
victims  under  the  floors  of  St.  Peter's  Chapel  with 
in  the  Tower. 

There  was  a  noble  lady  by  the  name  of  Ann 
Ascew,  who  had  been  driven  from  her  house  by  her 
Papist  husband.  Her  beauty  was  the  least  of  her 
adornments,  for  she  had  the  graces  of  learning  and 
piety.  She  was  one  of  the  maids  of  honor  to 
Katharine  Parr,  but  she  did  not  believe  the  most 
essential  article  in  the  Church  which  King  Henry 
was  setting  up,  —  the  presence  of  Christ's  body  in 
the  Eucharist. 

"  Do  you  believe  that  the  priest  has  power  to 
change  the  bread  into  the  body  of  the  Lord?" 

"  Verily,"  said  she,  "  I  have  read  that  God  made 
man,  but  I  never  have  read  that  man  can  make 
God." 

She  was  sent  to  the  Tower,  and  Wriothesley  and 
Rich  thought  they  could  wring  something  from  her 
which  could  be  turned  into  evidence  against  her  mis 
tress,  the  Queen.  They  ordered  Sir  Anthony  Kny- 
vet,  the  keeper,  to  put  her  to  the  rack.  He  obeyed, 
the  miscreants  standing  and  looking  on.  But  the 
gentle  martyr  would  disclose  nothing,  when  they 
ordered  Knyvet  to  give  the  rack  another  turn.  He 

refused.      Rich   and    Wriothesley   threw   off  their 

7* 


78 


THE    EXILE. 


cloaks  and  seized  hold  of  the  infernal  machine, 
which  they  turned  till  the  tender  frame  that  was 
stretched  upon  it  was  dislocated  and  nearly  plucked 
asunder.  Knyvet  fled  appalled  and  indignant  from 
the  spectacle,  to  complain  of  it  to  the  King;  and 
even  the  royal  butcher  was  shocked  at  the  recital. 
This  Wriothesley  subsequently  became  Lord  Chan 
cellor.  He  was  said  to  be  constitutionally  a  kindly 
and  humane  man;  and  he  furnishes  yet  another 
illustration  of  the  fact,  that  cruel  laws  always  de- 
monize  the  men  who  execute  them.  Holbein  has 
not  left  us  the  picture  of  this  man,  but  a  contem 
porary  poet  has  done  it :  — 

"  From  vile  estate  of  base  and  low  degree, 
By  false  deceit,  by  craft  arid  subtle  ways, 
Of  mischief  mould  and  key  of  cruelty, 
Was  crept  full  high,  borne  up  by  various  stays, 
With  ireful  eye  and  glcaring  like  a  cat, 
Killing  by  spite  whom  he  thought  fit  to  hit."  * 

Another  of  these  Henricans  and  women-hunters 
was  THOMAS  CROMWELL,  too  well  known  in  history 
to  need  any  limning  from  us.  He  was  Henry's  pli 
ant  tool  in  all  things,  and  though  his  private  ten 
dencies  were  towards  Protestantism,  yet  he  held  his 
opinions  as'  entirely  ductile  to  the  church  and  state 
policy  of  Henry.  His  case  furnishes  as  terrible  an 
instance  of  recoiling  and  retributive  justice  as  can 
be  found  either  in  history  or  poetry.  He  compassed 
the  death  of  Ann  Boleyn,  because  his  family  was 
connected  with  Jane  Seymour,  who  was  to  succeed 
her.  He  compassed  the  death  of  Queen  Katharine 


*  Cavendish. 


PORTRAITS.  79 

Howard,  because  she  was  a  Catholic ;  and  he  got  the 
King  married  to  Ann  of  Cleves,  because  she  was  a 
Protestant.  Ann  did  not  suit  the  royal  Blue-Beard, 
and  he  swore  vengeance  upon  the  minister  who  had 
imposed  her  upon  him.  But  before  he  had  done 
with  him,  he  made  him  drive  through  the  Parliament 
a  law  authorizing  the  attainder  and  execution  of 
persons  charged  with  treason,  without  trial.  This 
was  done  for  the  purpose  of  reaching  the  venerable 
and  innocent  Countess  of  Salisbury.  But  it  so  hap 
pened  that  Cromwell  was  the  first  victim  to  the  law 
which  he  had  been  the  base  instrument  in  bringing 
in,  —  not  a  solitary  instance  of  those  who  are 
plagued  by  their  own  "  bloody  instructions."  He 
got  the  axe  ready  which  was  first  to  cut  off  his  own 
head.  At  the  time  of  which  we  write,  Cromwell 
was  the  Vicar- General  of  England. 

RICHARD  RICH,  the  crown  lawyer  and  solicitor,  the 
reader  has  already  had  a  glimpse  of,  with  his  red 
face  and  drunken  leer.  He  was  a  Henrican  in  the 
full  sense  of  the  word,  his  religion  being  always  that 
of  the  government.  We  follow  him  afterwards  into 
the  reign  of  Edward,  when  avarice  has  become  his 
ruling  passion.  Grown  rich  on  confiscated  estates 
and  the  price  of  blood,  he  becomes  fearful  of  losing 
his  own  head  between  opposing  factions,  resigns 
office  and  retires  to  private  life  with  a  vision  of  the 
axe  before  his  eyes,  but  finally  dies  a  natural  death 
with  the  blood  of  More  unpurged  from  his  soul. 

Whoever  walks  through  the  great  hall  of  Lam 
beth  Palace,  hung  round  with  the  portraits  of  the 
Archbishops  of  Canterbury,  will  pause  with  a  melan- 


80  THE    EXILE. 

choly  interest  when  he  comes  to  THOMAS  CRANMER. 
Two  qualities  which,  alas!  will  sometimes  get  blend 
ed  in  the  same  character,  speak  out  from  the  mild 
eye  and  from  ah1  the  features,  —  Christian  meekness 
and  cringing  cowardice.  Cranmer  has  been  praised 
by  Protestants  as  their  sainted  martyr,  and  honored 
as  the  father  of  the  English  Reformation.  But 
those  unerring  witnesses,  the  "  state  papers,"  are 
likely  to  pluck  away  his  honors.  It  is  only  by  an 
abuse  of  language  that  we  can  call  him  a  Reformer, 
or  even  a  Protestant.  True,  he  held  in  his  secret 
heart  some  of  the  principles  of  the  Reformation, 
which  were  denied  in  his  life  and  on  his  tongue 
whenever  he  thought  his  personal  safety  required  it. 
He  lent  himself  soul  and  body  to  the  mongrel  church 
which  Henry  was  trying  to  build  up.  By  him  the 
noble  and  spotless  Katharine  of  Aragon  was  driven, 
blighted  and  broken-hearted,  to  her  grave.  By  him 
the  giddy-headed  Ann  Boleyn  was  installed  in  her 
place.  By  him  Ann  was  in  turn  deposed  and  her 
child  bastardized,  and  though  she  had  been  his  kind 
benefactor,  she  went  to  the  block  with  not  so  much 
as  a  remonstrance  from  him  when  he  knew  she  was 
innocent.  By  him  Daniel  Lambert  was  confronted 
and  argued  down  on  his  trial  for  heresy,  and  finally 
sent  to  the  flames  for  avowing  opinions  which  Cran 
mer  in  his  heart  believed.  By  him  Katharine  How 
ard,  a  woman  to  whom  history  has  never  yet  been 
just,  was  inveigled  into  a  confession  under  promise 
of  the  King's  pardon,  and  then  sent  to  the  block,  a 
friendless  girl,  innocent  of  the  crime  charged  against 
her,  when  there  was  not  a  man  in  the  Council  to 


PORTRAITS.  81 

bespeak  for  her  a  decent  trial.  When  installed 
into  the  office  of  Archbishop,  Cranmer  swore  to  the 
Pope's  supremacy  in  public,  and  made  record  in 
private  that  he  meant  to  break  his  oath.  After  he 
had  been  condemned  to  death,  he  recanted  his  opin 
ions  under  the  promise  of  pardon ;  and  so  used  had 
he  been  to  paltering  in  a  double  sense,  that  they 
made  him  draw  up  six  confessions  before  they  could 
get  one  out  of  him  which  was  not  capable  of  con 
tradictory  interpretations.  When  he  found  at  last, 
that  he  must  burn  at  any  rate,  he  recanted  his  re 
cantation,  and  went  to  the  stake,  the  only  time  he 
seems  to  have  acted  like  a  man.  Notwithstanding 
his  place  in  the  calendar  of  Protestant  saints,  we 
can  make  nothing  of  him  but  a  Henrican,  a  tool  of 
the  existing  church  power,  furnishing  another  mel 
ancholy  instance  how  a  really  noble  nature  —  for 
such  his  originally  was  —  can  have  all  its  powers 
reversed,  when  it  lends  itself  to  unrighteous  power, 
and  is  swept  over  by  the  spirit  of  polluted  law. 

These  were  prominent  among  the  men  who  un 
der  Henry  founded  a  church,  which  was  neither  Pa 
pal  nor  Protestant,  and  whose  final  creed  determined 
in  what  were  called  "  THE  Six  BLOODY  ARTICLES." 
These  Articles  were  thoroughly  Catholic,  with  the 
exception  that  Henry,  instead  of  Clement,  was  made 
Pope,  and  his  ministers,  and  not  those  of  the  Roman 
Pontiff,  had  all  the  diabolical  pleasures  of  persecu 
tion.*  The  Bloody  Articles  cut  two  ways,  —  upon 

*  These  Articles  were  as  follows  :  —  The  first  affirms  the  doctrine 
of  transubstantiation.  The  second  denies  the  necessity  of  communion 
in  both  kinds.  The  third  affirms  the  doctrine  of  clerical  celibacy. 


82  THE    EXILE. 

Catholics  for  denying  that  Henry  was  the  true  Pope, 
and  upon  Protestants  for  denying  the  transubstan- 
tiation  and  its  kindred  dogmas. 

It  would  be  unjust,  however,  to  say  that  all  the 
subscribers  to  the  Bloody  Articles  were  after  the 
pattern  of  Wriothesley  and  Gardiner.  There  were 
a  great  many  persons  who  stood  on  just  this  middle 
and  transition  ground.  They  did  not  believe  in  the 
Pope,  and  they  dreaded  Lutheranism  and  Lollard- 
ism  as  the  upheaving  of  all  authority,  and  leading 
to  such  irregularities  as  the  Anabaptists  were  guilty 
of  in  Germany.  It  was  an  era  of  perplexing  change, 
and  these  people  clung  to  Henricism  as  the  last  stay 
against  the  total  wreck  of  society.  In  this  class, 
we  suppose,  the  family  of  Richard  Sayer  was  to  be 
found. 

The  Bloody  Articles  did  not  have  the  formal 
sanction  of  Parliament  till  1538,  though  they  were 
virtually  in  force  at  the  time  of  More's  execution. 
Who  the  commissioner  was  that  came  down  to 
Essex  as  apostle  of  the  Henrican  Church,  to  swear 
in  the  people  to  the  true  faith,  we  have  no  authen 
tic  record  ;  but  we  infer  from  various  hints  that  it 
was  Wriothesley  with  his  "  glearing  eye,"  which 
blasted  whomsoever  it  fell  upon.  We  will  show 
the  reader  the  work  which  was  done,  so  far  as  our 
family  history  is  concerned,  and  he  will  judge  which 
of  these  select  spirits  of  the  Privy  Council  might 
best  claim  it  as  his  own.  Of  religious  persecutions, 

The  fourth  asserts  that  vows  of  chastity  should  be  observed.  The 
fifth  is  in  favor  of  private  masses ;  the  sixth,  of  auricular  confession. 
Tolman's  Neale's  Puritans,  II.  76. 


PORTRAITS.  83 

those  of  the  Roman  Emperors,  of  St.  Bartholo 
mew's  day,  and  of  "  the  Bloody  Mary  "  have  passed 
into  the  commonplaces  of  history,  and  wrought 
deeply  upon  human  sympathy  The  victims  of  St. 
Bartholomew's  day  are  computed  variously,  but 
were  probably  not  far  from  thirty  thousand.  The 
martyrs  in  Mary's  reign  numbered  about  two  hun 
dred.  This  Henrican  Church  has  never  had  its  mar- 
tyrologist  or  its  history  worthily  written,  and  the 
common  reader  is,  perhaps,  ignorant  of  the  astound 
ing  fact,  that,  in  the  attempt  to  break  the  English 
mind  into  a  conformity  with  the  doctrines  of  the 
Six  Bloody  Articles,  SEVENTY  TWO  THOUSAND  PER 
SONS  were  put  to  death  during  the  reign  of  Henry,* 
No  persecution  on  record  discloses  such  an  appalling 
havoc  of  human  life.  Most  of  these  were  in  hum 
ble  circumstances,  and  if  the  secret  story  of  all  these 
sufferers  could  be  unrolled,  it  would  be  a  thrilling 
chapter  in  the  history  of  earth's  unrecorded  martyrs. 
But  History  has  been  so  busy  with  the  crimes  of 
courts,  that  she  has  never  drawn  the  veil  from  this 
lowly  province  of  endurance  and  wrong.  The  above 
fact  is  put  down  in  Holingshed  as  an  item  of  dry 
statistics ;  for  since  the  sufferers  were  mainly  among 

*  This  fact  is  given  by  Miss  Strickland,  on  the  authority  of  Ho- 
lingshed's  Chronicle.  See  Queens  of  England,  Vol.  V.  p.  218.  It 
docs  not  appear,  however,  that  all  this  destruction  of  life  was  profess 
edly  the  penalty  of  heretical  opinions.  But  it  must  have  been  to  a 
great  extent  in  consequence  of  religious  animosities  and  persecutions. 
The  dissolution  of  the  monasteries  made  vast  numbers  of  people 
homeless  and  destitute.  Then  homelessness  and  destitution  wore 
made  capital  crimes.  Those  who  suffered  directly  for  either  Popery 
or  Lollardism  swelled  the  frightful  number  of  victims. 


84 


THE    EXILE. 


the  untitled  populace,  the  hecatombs  are  passed  over 
with  less  remark  than  the  execution  of  a  single  per 
son  like  "the  noble  and  accomplished  Surrey."  It 
is  our  object  simply  to  trace  the  results  of  this  per 
secution,  and  show  its  spirit  in  the  domestic  history 
of  a  single  family. 


CHAPTER    XII. 

WHEREIN  JOB  SINGS  HIMSELF  INTO  MUCH  TROUBLE. 

RICHARD  came  away  from  the  monastery  marvel 
lously  refreshed.  Faith  in  God  and  faith  in  virtue 
had  somehow  got  completely  strengthened  and  re 
lumed.  The  owls  of  atheism  had  all  flitted  away, 
and  left  a  clear  and  sunny  sky ;  and  the  last  time 
he  kneeled  before  Raphael's  picture,  it  seemed  to 
him  that  he  was  breathed  upon  by  a  whole  army 
of  martyrs. 

On  the  southern  bank  of  the  river  Colne  the 
ground  swells  into  a  considerable  eminence,  and  on 
the  northern  side  of  this  eminence  lies  the  city  of 
Colchester.  Commencing  at  the  margin  of  the 
stream,  it  spreads  along  up  the  acclivity,  street 
above  street,  till  it  finally  crowns  the  top  of  the  hill. 
On  the  continuous  summit  of  this  same  hill,  as  it 
stretched  along  westward,  lay  the  estate  of  Richard 
Sayer,  —  six  miles  out  of  the  town,  —  and  on  it  stood 
Bourchier  Hall,  the  family  mansion.*  It  stood 
apart  by  itself,  looking  northward  down  into  the 

*  The  ruins  still  remain.     It  had  fish-ponds,  dove-cots,  extensive 
stables,  and  a  rookery. 
8 


86  THE    EXILE. 

vales  of  the  Colne,  and  southward,  over  an  undu 
lating  prospect,  into  the  fertile  fields  of  Essex. 

The  house,  after  the  manner  of  country  baronial 
houses,  was  a  quadrangular  structure  around  an 
inner  court.  Richard,  in  coming  to  it  from  Lon 
don,  did  not  pass  through  the  town,  but  left  the 
town  upon  his  right,  —  a  fortunate  circumstance  in 
the  present  instance.  From  the  house  down  to  the 
Colne  the  sloping  fields  were  covered  with  crops  of 
grass  and  grain,  through  which  rolled  the  lazy  and 
rustling  billows  under  the  summer  wind.  On  both 
sides  of  the  house,  north  and  south,  were  terraced 
gardens,  through  which  lay  walks,  some  fringed  with 
flowers,  and  some  shaded  with  trees  and  shrubbery. 
The  building  fronted  south,  and  was  a  tolerable 
specimen  of  the  baronial  mansion-houses  in  the 
times  of  the  Tudors.  At  the  middle  of  the  south 
front  was  a  great,  well-timbered  gate,  that  seldom 
grated  on  its  hinges ;  but  in  this  was  formed  a  small 
wicket-gate,  through  which  you  look  into  the  inner 
court,  and  by  which  you  enter  it.  Passing  through 
the  wicket-gate,  and  turning  to  the  right,  you  enter 
the  porter's  lodge,  Job's  head-quarters,  and  through 
that  you  pass  into  the  dining-room.  Or  turning  to 
the  left,  you  enter  the  chapel,  —  for  the  old  baronial 
lords  did  not  often  attend  the  parish  church,  —  and 
thence  you  enter  the  drawing-room  or  largest  parlor. 
These  four  rooms  occupied  the  southern  front  of  the 
quadrangular  structure  on  the  ground  floor.  The 
eastern  side  was  occupied  by  an  arcade,  that,  in 
summer,  looked  through  open  arches  into  a  flower- 
garden,  which  arches  in  winter  were  closed  up  and 


JOB    IN    TROUBLE.  87 

glazed.  On  the  west  side  was  a  great,  gloomy  hall, 
and  on  the  north  side  was  the  immense  kitchen, 
with  its  long  oaken  tables.  We  need  not  stop  to 
describe  the  dormitories  and  chambers  of  the  second 
floor,  any  further  than  to  say  that  the  "  royal  apart 
ments,"  so  called,  occupied  the  south  front  over  the 
gateway,  the  porter's  lodge,  and  the  drawing  and 
dining  rooms.  In  the  inner  court,  and  near  the 
centre  of  it,  stood  a  massive  stone  figure  of  Her 
cules,  holding  in  one  hand  a  club,  that  lay  across 
his  shoulders;  the  other  resting  on  his  hip,  and  dis 
charging  a  perennial  stream  of  water  into  a  carved 
stone  basin  below.* 

Richard  has  walked  over  from  the  monastery,  and 
arrived  at  his  house  with  such  feelings  as  the  read 
er,  provided  he  has  a  wife  and  child,  may  imagine 
him  to  possess,  after  the  scenes  he  has  witnessed  in 
London.  As  he  opens  the  wicket-gate  into  the 
open  court,  a  boy  of  about  four  summers,  who  does 
not  observe  his  approach,  is  leaning  over  the  stone 
basin,  plashing  languidly  in  the  water,  and  some 
times  catching  the  spray  from  the  stone  Hercules 
on  his  golden  curls.  Richard  comes  furtively  to 
wards  him  and  catches  him  up ;  and  not  till  he  has 
plucked  a  thousand  kisses  from  his  white  neck  and 
chubby  cheeks,  while  the  court  rings  with  the  child's 
silvery  laughter,  does  the  father  observe  the  big 
tear-drops  that  the  laughter  was  shaking  down  his 
face,  the  gushings  of  some  sorrow  he  had  broken  in 

*  For  a  more  full  and  detailed  description  of  one  of  these  baronial 
country-houses,  see  a  curious  book,  "  Sir  John  Cullum's  History  and 
Antiquities  of  Hawstcad  and  Hard  wick,  in  the  County  of  Suffolk." 


88  THE    EXILE. 

upon.  Before  he  has  time  to  inquire  into  the  case, 
his  wife  is  in  his  arms,  and  weeping  upon  his  bosom. 
The  night-birds  have  been  here  in  his  absence. 

"Where's  Job?" 

"  The  hounds  have  got  him." 

«  And  Lottie  ?  " 

No  answer  but  choking  sobs. 

Poor  Job  had  mistaken  the  matter.  Not  only 
"  loftie  lugs,"  but  lowly  ones  too,  were  in  danger  in 
such  times  as  these.  Job,  quite  unconscious  of  his 
peril,  had  provoked  the  Church  authorities,  and 
brought  down  their  power  upon  his  head  in  its 
most  malignant  shape.  Notwithstanding  his  large 
good-nature,  he  had  a  most  irresistible  propensity 
to  extract  his  amusements  from  the  follies  of  other 
people;  and  the  shams  especially  which  he  saw 
about  him  were  the  occasions  of  infinite  fun.  Lit 
tle  Johnny,  the  boy  whom  we  just  saw  at  the  stone 
basin,  was  always  hanging  on  his  neck  for  a  story 
or  a  song,  and  neither  the  stories  nor  the  songs 
were  calculated  to  give  him  the  most  exalted  ideas 
of  things  which  some  people  looked  upon  with 
awful  reverence.  The  child  would  go  to  bed,  and 
laugh  himself  to  sleep ;  and  even  after  sleep  had 
got  fast  hold  of  him,  his  laughter  would  break  out 
in  prolonged  eruptions,  as  the  droll  images  of  Job's 
songs  would  come  floating  through  his  dreams. 
Fortunate  would  it  have  been  for  Job  if  little 
Johnny  had  been  his  only  admirer ;  but  the  porter's 
lodge  at  Bourchier  Hall  had  become  a  famous  place 
for  a  certain  class  of  people  to  resort  to,  and  not 
always  till  after  midnight  did  the  room  cease  jfb 


JOB    IN    TROUBLE.  89 

shake  with  the  merriment.  Job's  vanity  became  a 
little  excited,  and,  with  a  fine  instinct,  he  did  not 
fail  to  discover  the  train  he  was  to  touch,  in  order 
to  produce  a  general  explosion.  Whoever  satirized 
the  priests  or  the  begging  friars  was  pretty  sure  of 
a  sympathizing  audience,  and  Job's  poetic  lore  was 
but  too  rich  in  material  from  which  to  draw.  The 
solemn  drollery  of  his  intonations  was  imitated  by 
worse  people  than  himself;  fragments  of  his  songs 
got  popularized  in  the  streets  and  alehouses,  and 
the  whole  of  the  lower  stata  of  Colchester  was  get 
ting  infected  with  Lollardism.  A  system  of  fraud 
and  error,  which  will  stand  before  whole  batteries 
of  syllogisms,  cannot  stand  very  long  the  assaults  of 
popular  lampooning.  With  the  exception  of  the 
following,  tradition  has  preserved  to  us  only  short 
fragments  and  snatches  of  Job's  melodies  of  this 
class ;  but  if  this  be  a  fair  specimen,  we  rather  won 
der  how  he  escaped  so  long  either  the  real  or  sym 
bolical  fagots  provided  for  such  cases. 

BOXLEY  ROOD. 

"  There  lived  a  priest  in  Maidstonc  town, 

Not  many  years  agone  ; 
He  had  a  cross  called  Boxlcy  Rood, 

Through  all  the  country  known  ; 
And  all  around  the  people  came, 

This  Boxley  Rood  to  view, 
For  on  the  cross  an  image  hung, 

Of  Saint  Bartholomew. 
O,  a  wondrous  thing  this  image  was, 

Of  Saint  Bartholomew ! 

"  The  pilgrims  came  from  far  and  near, 
As  I  \Q  heard  people  say, 
8=* 


90  THE    EXILE. 

And  paid  the  priest  so  much  a  head, 

To  see  the  image  pray ; 
Its  lips  would  move,  its  eyes  would  roll, 

Its  hands  it  upward  threw : 
O,  a  wondrous  thing  this  image  was, 

Of  Saint  Bartholomew ! 

"  One  day  a  fanner  lost  his  wife, 

And  came  with  a  pistole  : 
'  O  let  the  image  say  a  mass 

For  my  poor  Betsey's  soul ! 
The  priest  he  looked  a  solemn  look, 

And  signed  him  thus  —  and  —  so  : 
Out  popped  the  head  of  Bobbie  Brant, 

'  Bartholomew  wont  go  ! ' 
O  dolorous  joke,  the  crank  is  broke, 

Bartholomew  wont  go ! 

"  Soft  spake  the  priest :  '  A  tinker  call, 

As  swiftly  as  you  can, 
And  let  him  mend  Bartholomew, 

And  grease  his  inner  man.' 
O  then,  good  people  one  and  all, 

Come  on  with  your  pistoles, 
And  Bobbie  Brant  will  grind  the  prayers 

For  your  poor,  dying  souls  ! 
O  Bobbie  Brant,  he  turns  the  crank, 

To  save  poor  sinners'  souls  !  " 

Poor  Job  was  innocent  of  any  evil  design ;  but 
the  roars  of  laughter  had  scarcely  ceased  to  echo  in 
the  porter's  lodge,  before  Bobbie  Brant  became  a  fa 
mous  character  in  all  the  streets  and  market-places 
of  Colchester,  and  even  the  priests  heard  his  praises 
chanted  under  their  windows  by  moonlight.  It 
made  the  matter  worse,  inasmuch  as  the  doggerel 
which  Job  had  picked  up  was  a  rather  loose  and 
incorrect  version  of  a  real  fact ;  for  Boxley  Rood  at 
that  moment  was  receiving  devotees  from  all  parts 


JOB    IN    TROUBLE.  9l 

of  the  kingdom,  and  swelling  the  revenues  of  the 
priest  at  Maidstone  ;  and  it  was  a  pretty  good  speci 
men  of  the  trickeries  which  the  opened  monasteries 
were  every  day  disclosing.*  They  swore  to  make 
an  autodefe  of  the  "  gray-headed  buffoon,"  and  put 
a  stop  to  his  cursed  doggerel. 

*  The  ultimate  fate  of  Boxley  Rood  is  curiously  told  in  a  letter  in 
Latin,  given  by  Burnet.  See  his  Reformation,  p.  376  of  the  Appen 
dix.  The  idol  was  also  called  the  Image  of  Ashdod,  and  the  Baby 
lonish  BeL  After  playing  its  tricks  for  a  long  time,  the  imposture 
was  discovered,  and  it  was  brought  for  exhibition  to  St.  Paul's  Cross, 
where  its  ignominious  end  is  thus  described  :  — 

"  Here  the  image  once  more,  with  all  its  machinery  exposed,  goes 
through  its  part.  Admiration,  rage,  astonishment,  stir  the  multitude 
by  turns.  The  prevailing  feeling  is  one  of  mortification,  that  they 
should  have  been  so  shamefully  deluded  by  such  a  cheat.  At  length, 
as  the  preacher  (Hilsey  of  Rochester)  waxes  warm  in  his  discourse, 
and  the  word  of  God  is  secretly  working  in  the  hearts  of  his  auditors, 
the  wooden  block  is  thrown  down  headlong  into  the  thickest  of  the 
thi-ong.  Instantly  a  confused  outcry  of  many  voices  arises  ;  the  idol 
is  pulled  about,  is  broken,  is  plucked  in  pieces,  is  torn  into  a  thousand 
fragments,  and  finally  consigned  to  the  flames."  "Ethictulit  exi- 
tum  ilium." 

This  was  Sunday,  February  24th,  1538.  The  whole  letter  is  cu 
rious,  giving  a  lively  description  of  the  idol's  pranks  before  the  impos 
ture  was  discovered. 


CHAPTER    XIII. 


SONGS   IN  THE  NIGHT. 

* 


MORE  had  already  been  executed.  Before  Rich 
ard  arrived  home,  the  judicial  crime  had  been  con 
summated  that  sent  a  shudder,  not  only  over  Eng 
land,  but  the  whole  continent  of  Europe.  There 
was  no  man  more  endeared  to  the  common  people 
than  More,  and  his  murder  was  one  of  those  mon 
strous  iniquities  that  make  the  child  creep  up  closer 
to  its  mother,  and  the  mother  clasp  her  babes  in 
terror.  "Had  we  been  the  master  of  such  a  ser 
vant,"  exclaimed  the  Emperor  Charles,  "  we  would 
rather  have  lost  the  fairest  city  in  our  dominions 
than  such  a  counsellor."  The  commissioners  ad 
ministered  the  oath  of  supremacy,  while  the  gloom 
of  this  overshadowing  crime  lay  heavy  on  the  minds 
of  men. 

They  had  been  to  Colchester,  as  we  have  said, 
but  Richard  Sayer  did  not  appear.  They  meant 
to  hunt  him  out.  Job  is  to  be  used  for  a  double 
purpose.  He  is  to  be  used  in  discovering  and  con 
victing  his  master,  and  then  doubtless  they  will 
roast  him  in  the  Colchester  market-place  as  a  terror 


SONGS    IN    THE    NIGHT.  93 

to  all  Lollards,  and  especially  those  that  sing  ballads 
and  lampoons. 

There  ^  was  a  priest  named  Dyer,*  convicted  af 
terwards  of  gross  sensuality,  who  undertook  to  be 
Job's  confessor,  and  who  very  likely  instigated  his 
arrest.  Job  was  lodged  in  the  common  jail,  and 
Dyer  came  and  talked  sweet  and  softish  at  first, 
holding  out  finally  very  unpleasant  prospects,  both 
of  temporal  and  eternal  fire,  yet  intimating  a  par 
don  on  conditions.  Where  was  his  master  ?  And 
what  had  he  heard  him  say  ? 

Job  was  dumb. 

The  priest  threatened,  but  in  vain.  At  length  the 
last  ad  hominem  argument  which  tyrants  resort  to 
was  produced,  —  the  rack.  Job's  hair  rose  up  stiffer 
on  the  top  of  his  head.  "  I  will  be  plain  with  you, 
Master  Dyer,  and  save  you  all  that  trouble.  You 
may  tear  my  limbs  apart,  but  I  cannot  betray  my 
master." 

We  will  not  stop  to  describe  the  agonies  of  the 
faithful  old  servant.  They  did  not  reach  the  place 
where  his  secret  was  kept,  and  he  hugged  it  closer, 
and  sent  it  deeper  into  his  heart,  in  the  rnidst  of  his 
tortures. 

But  the  fiends  of  cruelty  have  an  inexhaustible 
ingenuity.  Respect  and  reverence  for  woman  is  a 
native  element  of  the  English,  and  especially  the 
Anglo-Saxon  mind,  and  antedates  all  the  glories  of 
chivalry.  But  the  beastly  monster  who  now  occu 
pied  the  throne  of  England  did  what  lay  in  him  to 

*  For  some  account  of  this  fellow,  See  Bumet's  Reformation,  in 
Vol.  II.,  Appendix. 


94  THE    EXILE. 

extinguish  this  essential  element  of  civilization,  and 
brought  in  the  fashion  of  burning  and  butchering 
women  to  an  extent  that  no  nation,  heathen  or 
Christian,  ever  practised  or  heard  of  before.  The 
royal  butcher  began  with  Elizabeth  Barton,  —  the 
epileptic  "  Spiritualist "  of  those  times.  Thence 
he  proceeded  to  ladies  of  gentle  blood,  and  sent  his 
queens  to  the  block  as  remorselessly  as  a  Devon 
shire  drover  would  drive  his  cattle  to  the  shambles. 
The  gray-haired  Countess  of  Salisbury  followed,  — 
hacked  in  pieces  on  the  scaffold  and  dragged  round 
it  by  her  hoary  hair,  —  the  account  of  whose  execu 
tion  we  cannot  read,  now  that  three  centuries  have 
passed,  without  a  feeling  of  self-degradation  that 
we  and  Henry  the  Eighth  belong  to  a  common 
species.  The  noble-minded  Ann  Ascew,  with  a 
train  of  others,  followed  in  her  turn,  and  after  her 
Joan  of  Kent,  whose  innocent  blood  stains  eternally 
the  robes  of  Cranmer,  —  and,  we  are  sorry  to  add, 
of  John  Rogers,  the  famous  martyr. 

It  was  a  question  among  the  vultures  of  Essex, 
put  on  the  scent  doubtless  by  Rich,  the  brutal  and 
cringing  crown  lawyer,  who  was  doing  his  best  to 
earn  the  chancellorship  and  clutch  his  share  of  con 
fiscated  estates,  whether  they  would  attempt  to  get 
hold  of  Richard  through  his  wife  or  his  servant. 
His  wife  was  a  lady  of  gentle  blood,  and  there  were 
difficulties  in  the  way.  The  hard  fate  fell  upon 
poor  Lottie,  who  was  supposed  to  be  thoroughly 
infected  with  the  Lollardism  of  her  father.  She 
was  arrested  and  lodged  in  another  apartment  of 
the  same  jail. 


SONGS    IN    THE    NIGHT.  95 

The  wits  of  these  night-birds  were  infernally  keen, 
and  would  have  honored  a  Solomon  in  a  good 
cause.  Lottie  proved  as  intractable  as  her  father. 
They  could  not  win  the  secret  from  her  by  blandish 
ments,  nor  frighten  it  out  of  her  by  threats.  But 
they  contrived  a  rack  for  her,  whose  tortures  were 
sharper  than  any  which  poor  Job  had  yet  suffered. 
They  put  her  purposely  where  she  could  hear  most 
distinctly  her  father's  groans,  and  thought  to  break 
her  in  through  the  tortures  of  agonizing  love.  All 
day  she  had  heard  at  intervals  the  creaking  of  the 
rack,  followed  by  the  piercing  ejaculation,  "  O  Lord, 
save !  O  Lord,  forgive  "  with  the  assurance  that 
any  moment  she  could  put  an  end  to  the  dreadful 
business,  by  telling  xwhere  her  master  was  to  be 
found.  Her  first  truthful  and  womanly  instinct  was 
to  refuse  even  unto  the  death,  but  every  new  turn  of 
the  rack  sent  a  knife  through  the  tenderest  spot  in  her 
heart,  and  what  she  would  have  done  in  her  distrac 
tion  we  cannot  tell.  Happily,  however,  this  was 
not  an  agony  to  be  long  endured;  and  as  the  day 
closed,  the  dingy  prison-walls  grew  darker  and  swam 
before  her  eyes,  and  presently  all  sights  and  sounds 
were  as  nothing  to  poor  Lottie,  and  she  lay  insen 
sible  upon  the  dungeon  floor 

Night  has  set  in,  and  the  vultures  have  left  their 
victims  to  themselves.  Lottie  opened  her  eyes, 
and  looked  at  a  light,  which  was  none  other  than 
the  moonbeams  shining  through  the  grate,  making 
a  picture  on  the  \vall  alive  with  the  shadows  of 
fluttering  leaves.  She  was  musing  what  it  could 
be,  when  gradually  all  her  senses  unlocked,  and 


96  THE    EXILE. 

she  knew  again  where  she  was.  She  listened  for 
the  sounds  from  the  adjoining  cell.  There  were 
meanings  of  pain,  made  in  loved  and  remembered 
tones.  But  they  grew  fainter,  and  all  was  still;  and 
there  came  the  bitter  reflection,  that  he  whose  good 
angel  she  had  aspired  to  be,  and  whose  pillow  she 
had  hoped  to  make  smooth  in  the  last  strange 
hour,  had  met  that  hour  alone. 

But  Job  was  alive,  though  he  did  not  know  what 
had  befallen  his  child.  He  was  turning  over  his 
lore  to  find  something  that  suited  his  case  and 
would  enable  him  to  forget  his  pains.  Presently  the 
low  humming  and  tuning  so  familiar  to  Lottie's  ear 
greeted  it  again.  She  listened  with  all  her  life,  and 
anon  an  old  and  much-loved  strain  emerged,  feeble 
and  tremulous  at  first,  but  gaining  strength  and 
volume  as  it  swept  along. 

"  Night  has  shut  the  prisoner  in, 
Night  of  horrors,  night  of  sin ! 
Vain  for  light  my  eyeballs  roll, 
Darkly  here  I  dwell  in  dole ; 
On  my  bed  I  plain  and  mourn, 
Bleeding  with  the  twisted  thorn. 

"  What  arises  dread  and  still  ? 
O  't  is  Calvary's  awftil  hill ! 
-..,..  0  the  drooping  Sufferer  there  ! 

O  the  unprevailing  prayer ! 
O  the  temples  gashed  and  torn, 
Bleeding  with  the  twisted  thorn !  " 

Lottie  had  listened,  doubting  in  her  heart  whether 
to  let  her  voice  be  heard,  fearing  lest  a  knowledge 
that  she  was  there  would  add  another  drop  of  bit- 


SONGS    IN    THE    NIGHT.  97 

terness  to  her  father's  cup  of  trembling ;  but  she 
forgot  herself  here,  or  at  least  could  not  keep  her 
voice  suppressed,  that  leaped  out  of  its  own  accord. 
At  the  third  stanza,  she  caught  the  song  away  from 
her  father's  lips ;  and  her  tones,  made  rich  with  a 
new  unction,  rolled  round  her  apartment,  and  filled 
the  whole  prison  with  a  strange  melody. 

"  What  arises  dread  and  still  ? 
Lo,  Ascension's  holy  hill ! 
See  the  rifted  clouds  retire, 
Flaming  with  the  fleecy  fire ! 
Through  them  see  a  form  upborne,  — 
He  who  wore  the  twisted  thorn ! 

"  What  is  that  I  see  afar  ? 
'T  is  the  blinking  of  a  star,  — 
'Tis  Orion  !  'tis  the  Sun! 
'T  is  the  Conqueror  coming  on ! 
Riding  through  the  gates  of  morn, 
lie  who  wore  the  twisted  thorn ! 

"  Look  ye  up  to  Calvary's  hill, 
Ye  who  tread  the  paths  of  ill  ! 
Look  3*0  towards  Ascension  Mount, 
Ye  who  drink  the  bitter  fount ! 
Look  ye  towards  the  gates  of  Morn, 
Ye  who  wear  the  twisted  thorn  !  " 

Job  was  bewildered.  He  thought  of  other  and 
better  men  before  him,  who  had  sung  songs  in  prison 
that  brought  down  angels  to  open  the  doors.  He 
thought  he  knew  the  voice,  and  in  his  pain  and  be 
wilderment  he  looked  up,  half  expecting  his  lost 
Charlotte  to  melt  through  the  darkness  upon  his 
vision.  Slowly  he  came  to  a  realization  of  the 
facts  of  the  case,  and  then  the  song  was  repeated 

9 


98  THE    EXILE. 

over  and  over  with  blended  voices,  till  the  drowsy 
inmates  of  the  prison  rubbed  their  eyes,  and  looked 
about  in  wonderment,  and  till  a  light  not  of  this 
world  was  shining  through  two  of  the  prison  cells. 


CHAPTER    XIV. 

CONSULTATIONS. 

ALL  this  business  had  been  going  on  while  Rich 
ard  was  staying  at  the  monastery,  his  whereabouts 
a  secret  to  all  but  his  own  family.  When  he  ar 
rived  at  Colchester,  the  storm  had  got  there  before 
him. 

We  have  said  that  his  father  was  living,  and  that 
Richard  had  not  yet  come  in  possession  of  his 
estate.  But  Bourchier  Hall  he  held  either  in  his 
own  right  or  that  of  his  wife,  and  the  hungry  eyes 
of  the  Privy  Council  were  upon  it. 

As  soon  as  he  arrived,  his  family  connections, 
both  on  his  side  and  that  of  his  wife,  drew  around 
him,  and  urged  upon  him  all  possible  persuasions 
to  take  the  oath.  Commands,  entreaties,  woman's 
tears,  threats  of  disinheritance,  were  brought  to 
bear.  All  the  ties  that  can  bind  a  man  to  his 
family  and  to  this  world  when  it  looks  the  fairest 
were  stirring  at  his  heart,  to  draw  him  into  con 
formity  with  the  government.  But  he  was  a 
young  man,  —  his  imagination  bright  with  what 
his  friends  called  the  romance  of  life,  his  mind  as 


100  THE    EXILE. 

he  thought  smitten  with  the  beauty  of  justice  and 
a  conscience  undented.  The  duty  of  obedience 
to  government  was  urged  upon  him.  He  stoutly 
argued  that  there  was  a  higher  law  than  that  of 
Parliament,  and  a  higher  King  than  Henry.  They 
urged,  that  for  an  individual  to  set  up  his  opinion 
against  the  King  and  the  Parliament  was  flat  re 
bellion. 

He  replied,  that  it  was  better  to  rebel  against 
human  government  than  the  Divine. 

They  urged  that  he  was  not  the  proper  judge  of 
what  was  the  Divine  law. 

He  replied,  that  he  thought  his  judgment  as 
good  as  that  of  the  King's  harlot,  and  that  the 
Church  in  which  he  was  baptized  and  educated 
was  a  better  judge  than  either. 

They  urged  the  danger  of  anarchy  and  the  Ana 
baptist  disorders  in  Germany. 

He  replied,  that  a  tyranny  that  sent  such  men  as 
More  and  Fisher  to  the  block  was  as  bad  as  the 
disorders  of  the  Continent,  and  that  the  true  safe 
guard  against  both  was  the  authority  of  the  ancient 
Church. 

They  urged  his  duty  to  his  family,  his  aged 
parents,  and  his  wife  and  child,  whom  he  exposed 
to  certain  calamity. 

"  Alack !  "  said  he,  in  a  voice  becoming  tremu 
lous,  I  will  give  up  everything  of  my  own  to  please 
and  comfort  you.  But  truth  is  not  mine,  and 
when  the  choice  lies  between  that  and  perjury,  I 
must  know  neither  father  nor  mother  nor  wife  nor 
sister  nor  brother." 


CONSULTATIONS.  101 

.  He  had  passed  the  Rubicon,  and  Lawyer  Leach's 
distinction  even  could  not  save  him  now.  They 
gave  him  up  sorrowfully,  as  utterly  intractable,  and 
left  him  to  himself. 

His  plan  was  soon  formed.  It  was  to  leave  the 
country,  and  wait  for  better  times.  He  had  been 
married  about  five  years,  and  no  blight  had  fallen 
upon  his  domestic  peace.  His  wife's  family  were 
firm  adherents  of  the  government,  —  Henricans  in 
the  fullest  sense, —  and  he  determined  to  resign  her 
to  their  powerful  protection. 

She  had  experienced  nothing  but  tenderness  and 
sunshine,  and  he  did  not  mean  to  involve  her  in  his 
evil  fortunes. 

"  You  are  to  be  my  good  angel  no  longer,  nor 
the  light  of  my  home,  and  I  will  see  that  you  are 
sent  safely  to  the  shades  of  Ashwelthorpe,  where 
you  will  remain  till  this  storm  has  spent  its  rage. 
As  for  this  young  cherub  of  ours  — "  —  and  he 
was  musing  with  his  hand  on  the  head  of  Johnny 
till  his  eyes  were  getting  moist. 

We  have  known  men  who  had  wives  whose 
worth  they  never  had  the  fortune  to  discover.  It  is 
one  of  the  benefits  of  calamity  that  it  reveals  the 
clear  gold  in  woman's  character ;  and  Richard  did 
not  know  what  his  treasures  were  till  this  hour. 
His  wife  clung  to  him  when  all  the  rest  had 
left  him  to  his  fate.  "  Talk  not,"  said  she,  "  of 
Ashwelthorpe !  Do  you  think  I  will  desert  you  in 
such  an  hour  as  this  ?  What  did  you  take  me 
for,  if  I  am  good  for  nothing  in  your  day  of  ex 
tremity  ?  Trust  me,  I  will  cling  to  you  to  the  end, 


102  THE    EXILE. 

and  share  with  you  your  exile,  your  prison,  or  your 
grave.  You  will  be  worth  more  to  me  with  a  con 
science  undenled,  and  an  unbroken  manhood,  with 
all  its  hardships,  than  living  a  dishonored  life  in 
Bourchier  Hall." 

He  reminded  her  that  she  would  incur  her  own 
father's  displeasure,  as  he  himself  had  already  done. 
"  I  will  take  care  of  that,"  said  she.  "  Go  and  leave 
everything  to  me,  and,  God  willing,  I  will  follow 
you,  and  bring  your  child  in  safety  to  you  at  last. 
Go,  for  the  hounds  may  overtake  you." 

There  was  danger  of  it.  Not  many  hours  after 
this  conversation,  they  were  at  the  door.  But  the 
game  had  fled. 

The  Sayers  owned  estates  in  the  neighboring 
parishes  of  Copford  and  Aldham.  Richard  retired 
to  the  latter  place,  and  remained  some  days  among 
his  tenantry,  through  whom  he  made  arrangements 
for  his  escape  out  of  the  country.  There  was  a 
vessel  lying  down  the  Colne,  in  which  he  intended 
to  embark  for  Holland,  and  news  at  length  came  to 
him  from  his  wife  that  the  vessel  was  ready  to  sail, 
and  that  he  could  trust  himself  on  board.  Emerg 
ing  from  his  retreat,  he  went  a  little  out  of  his  direct 
course  in  order  to  take  St.  John's  Abbey  in  his  way, 
and  receive  the  farewell  blessing  of  the  good  father 
whose  counsels  he  had  sought,  and  whose  meek 
but  unconquerable  spirit  he  had  imbibed  in  his 
hour  of  darkness.  He  passed  once  more  the  ora 
tory  on  the  hill,  where  under  the  solemn  stars  he 
drank  in  the  spirit  of  self-sacrifice,  and  where  im 
mortality  brooded  on  his  soul  once  more,  and  made 


CONSULTATIONS.  103 

it  strong.  He  walked  again  under  the  arches  of 
the  old  chestnut-trees,  whose  shades  had  soothed 
his  chafed  and  wearied  spirit,  as  the  old  man  dis 
coursed  of  heavenly  things  ;  and  finally  he  emerged 
from  the  grove  and  came  in  front  of  the  monastery. 
But  a  ghastly  sight  was  before  him.  The  aged 
form  of  Father  Bache  had  been  hacked  into  four 
quarters,  the  head  severed  from  the  body,  and  the 
mangled  fragments  hung  over  the  gates  of  the 
monastery.  The  deed  had  just  been  done.  No 
monks  appeared  on  the  chapel  green,  and  no  bell 
ringing  for  matins  poured  its  music  through  the 
grove.  All  was  desolate  and  still.  The  monastery 
had  been  "dissolved," — which  means  that  the  ab 
bot  had  been  executed  for  refusing  the  oath  of  su 
premacy,  the  monks  turned  adrift  to  starve  and  beg, 
and  perhaps  be  gibbeted  afterwards  on  a  charge  of 
vagabondism',  and  the  income  of  the  abbey  lands  put 
into  the  clutch  of  some  greedy  Privy  Councillor.  It 
was  perilous  for  Richard  to  venture  in,  but  a  strange 
power  drew  him  farther,  and  he  passes  under  the 
yet  dripping  quarters  of  his  venerated  friend,  into 
the  green  court  of  the  monastery.  Within  the 
buildings  were  three  or  four  men,  who,  in  merchant 
phrase,  were  "  taking  account  of  stock,"  making  an 
inventory  of  church  plunder,  among  which  were  the 
offerings  at  the  shrine  of  St.  John,  the  picture  of  the 
Crucifixion,  and  the  two  pictures,  Christ  bearing  the 
Cross,  and  the  Virgin  and  Child.  One  of  these 
men  had  a  "  glearing  eye,"  that  looked  very  much 
like  the  eye  of  Wriotheslcy,  though  it  might  be  the 
eye  of  almost  any  of  Cromwell's  commissioners. 


104  THE    EXILE. 

The  image  of  St.  John  lay  prone  on  the  green  in 
the  court,  where  it  had  been  pitched  out,  and  the 
head  broken  off.  The  mosaic  of  the  chapel  floor 
had  been  taken  up  and  placed  in  piles ;  coffins,  dug 
up  and  rifled  of  their  silver  ornaments,  lay  here  and 
there;  and  the  horses  of  the  "commissioners"  stood 
in  the  chapel,  tethered  to  the  high  altar,  the  least 
brutal  of  any  of  the  inmates  just  now.  In  such  wise 
was  "  dissolved "  one  of  the  houses  which  "  had 
been  inns  for  the  wayfaring  man,  who  heard  from 
afar  the  sound  of  the  vesper  bell,  at  once  inviting 
him  to  repose  and  devotion,  and  who  might  sing 
his  matins  with  the  morning-star,  and  go  on  his 
way  rejoicing." 

Our  traveller  fled  swiftly  from  the  sickening 
spectacle,  and  reached  his  ship,  which  was  soon 
dropping  down  the  Colne.  His  eye  rested  upon 
the  receding  turrets  of  St.  John's  Abbey,  till  tears, 
not  distance,  shut  out  the  view,  and  a  heart-break 
ing  sigh  breathed  out  a  last  farewell  to  his  native 
land. 


CHAPTER    XV. 


THE  WIFE. 

THE  wife  of  Richard  Sayer  was  barely  twenty- 
three  years  of  age  when  the  storm  broke  upon  his 
household.  It  came  to  her  out  of  a  clear  sky.  No 
cloud  before  this  had  ever  passed  over  it.  She  was 
the  eldest  daughter  of  Sir  Edmund  Knyvet  of  Ash- 
welthorpe  in  Norfolk,  whose  family  name  had  been 
distinguished  now  for  a  century  in  English  annals. 
Sir  Edmund  Knyvet  appears  in  the  genealogical 
tables  with  the  addition  of  "  Sergent  Porter  to 
Henry  VIII."  What  that  means  precisely  we  can 
not  say,  only  we  know  he  stood  well  in  Henry's 
favor,  and  supported  his  government  both  against 
Popery  on  one  side  and  Lollardism  on  the  other. 
We  find  his  family  occupying  a  distinguished  place 
in  the  pageants  of  which  Henry  was  so  fond,  even 
as  early  as  the  rejoicings  occasioned  by  the  birth  of 
his  first  child.* 

*  For  a  description  of  one  of  these  occasions  at  Westminster  Hall, 
and  an  amusing  incident  connected  with  Sir  Thomas  Knyvet,  a 
brother  of  Edmund,  see  Lives  of  the  Queens,  by  Agnes  Strickland, 
Vol.  IV.  p.  79. 


106  THE    EXILE. 

The  wife  of  Sir  Edmund  and  the  mother  of 
Anne  Bourchier  Knyvet  was  Jane  Bourchier,  only 
surviving  daughter  and  heiress  of  Lord  Berners,  who 
was  also  an  adherent  of  Henry  and  a  supporter  of 
his  government.  The  wife  of  Lord  Berners  was 
Katharine  Howard,  daughter  of  John,  Duke  of  Nor 
folk,  and  therefore  not  a  remote  kindred  of  the  ill- 
fated  Katharine  Howard  who  became  the  queen  of 
Henry. 

The  Lady  Anne  Bourchier  Knyvet,  therefore, 
who  married  Richard  Sayer,  was  connected  by  her 
maternal  grandmother  with  the  Bourchiers,  whose 
line  runs  up  directly  to  Edward  the  Third,  and  by 
her  mother  and  maternal  grandmother  with  the 
house  of  Norfolk,  now,  next  to  the  throne,  the  most 
powerful  in  the  realm.  The  blood  both  of  the  Plan- 
tagenets  and  the  Howards  was  flowing  in  her  veins ; 
but  better  blood  than  that  of  either  was  also  there, 
as  we  shall  see  before  we  get  through  with  the  his 
tory  of  this  admirable  and  noble  woman. 

Her  father  by  his  marriage  acquired  the  manor 
of  Ashwelthorpe ;  and  there  Lady  Anne  was 
brought  up  and  educated  until  Richard  took  her, 
with  the  bloom  of  eighteen  summers  upon  her 
cheek  and  the  enthusiasm  of  romantic  love  in  her 
dark  eye,  and  made  her  the  light  of  his  home. 
Life's  prospects  at  first  sparkled  before  her  as  with 
the  beams  of  the  morning.  Her  husband  was  as 
full  of  hope  and  promise  as  herself,  not  without  a 
tinge  of  romance  that  threw  its  rose  colors  over 
all  things.  He  was  the  undoubted  heir  of  large 
estates ;  he  selected  for  his  own  residence  a  favorite 


THE    WIFE.  107 

ancestral  mansion,  named  it  Bourchier  Hall  after 
the  second  name  of  his  bride,  adorned  its  grounds 
with  everything  which  he  thought  would  please  her 
eye,  and  placed  within  it  the  most  tried  and  faithful 
servants  that  he  could  find  from  among  his  ten 
antry.  Little  Johnny  had  come,  and  grown  into  his 
fourth  year,  and,  with  his  laughing  blue  eye  and  his 
merry-making  voice,  made  sunshine  through  the 
house,  if  there  was  any  spot  not  already  illumined 
with  the  quiet  humor  of  Job's  songs,  or  the  laughing 
dimples  in  the  fat  cheeks  of  Lottie.  Five  years  of 
these  domestic  enjoyments  had  flowed  on  without 
disturbance,  when  they  all  had  to  be  sacrificed  for 
what  Lawyer  Leach  called  an  abstraction. 

All  the  family  influences  on  both  sides  were 
brought  to  bear  upon  Lady  Anne,  to  draw  her  away 
from  the  involving  ruin  of  her  husband's  fortunes. 
She  did  not  share  his  opinions,  and  why  should  she 
share  the  hard  penalties  which  attached  to  them  ? 
All  that  heart  could  wish  she  could  have  still ;  her 
child,  friends,  luxuries,  the  glare  of  outward  grand 
eur,  all  but  the  joy  of  that  one  unchanging,  un 
dying  passion,  —  woman's  devoted  and  faithful 
love.  She  had  but  just  come  out  of  her  girlhood, 
and  nothing  till  now  had  occurred  to  show  of 
what  metal  she  was  made.  Her  form  was  of 
rather  slender  and  delicate  mould.  But  s-he  had  a 
high  and  serene  forehead;  her  raven  hair  hung  in 
glossy  ringlets  down  her  neck ;  her  features  were 
pale,  but  exquisitely  moulded ;  and  her  large  black 
eye,  that  sometimes  changed  its  liquid  softness  into 
quick  flashings  of  light,  would  lead  one  to  think 


108  THE    EXILE. 

that  she  had  a  power  in  reserve,  and  a  Plantagenet 
energy,  whenever  occasion  might  require  it. 

The  occasion  had  come.  In  looking  about  her 
after  the  bolt  had  fallen,  her  first  care  was  to  provide 
means  for  her  husband's  escape.  She  was  on  the 
watch  till  she  found  a  vessel  ready  to  sail  in  which 
he  might  venture  with  safety.  She  had  things  pro 
vided  for  his  comfort,  and  yet  eluded  the  vigilance 
of  the  hunters ;  kept  him  secretly  advised  of  every 
thing  ;  and,  finally,  watched  the  vessel  from  the  bal 
cony  as  it  dropped  down  the  Colne,  and  faded  off 
and  disappeared  in  a  white  speck  on  the  ocean. 
Then  she  thought  of  her  two  faithful  servants. 

But  what  could  she  do  ?  It  was  perilous  to  take 
the  part  of  heretics.  Even  to  ask  a  mitigation  of 
punishment  exposed  one  to  the  fatal  suspicion  of 
sympathizing  in  their  opinions.  Hence,  when  a 
person  was  arrested  for  heresy,  everybody  else  cried 
out  and  reviled  him.  Even  his  own  kindred  would 
turn  against  him,  in  order  to  save  themselves.  No 
darker  feature  is  revealed  of  those  dark  times,  than 
the  power  of  persecution  to  abolish  the  tenderest 
ties  and  yearnings  of  nature.  The  father  of  Ann 
Boleyn  accused  and  vilified  his  daughter  as  she 
went  to  the  block,  innocent  though  she  was ;  and 
Norfolk,  the  uncle  of  Katharine  Howard,  saw  his 
niece  sacrificed  without  a  word  to  save  her.  The 
victim  always  went  to  the  stake  amid  the  jeers  and 
scoffs  of  the  crowd,  who  took  good  care  to  prove 
their  orthodoxy  by  their  brutality.  Lady  Anne,  by 
all  the  dictates  of  prudence  and  the  prevalent  moral 
ity,  should  now  have  maintained  a  guarded  silence  ; 


THE    WIFE.  109 

or,  as  she  was  herself  under  some  suspicion,  she 
should  have  cleared  herself  by  giving  in  evidence 
against  the  victims  of  power. 

What  she  really  did,  as  soon  as  her  husband  was 
safe,  was  to  present  herself  before  the  jail-keeper 
and  demand  to  see  her  servants.  The  keeper  said 
he  must  first  get  the  consent  of  Master  Dyer.  Mas 
ter  Dyer  said  he  must  get  the  consent  of  Wriothes- 
ley,  whose  eye  we  conclude  was  "glearing"  some 
where  in  the  neighborhood.  Nevertheless  permis 
sion  came,  and  she  was  admitted.  There  lay  poor 
Job  stretched  upon  a  plank,  with  a  groove  at  each 
end,  in  which  a  roller  was  made  to  turn.  His  feet 
were  lashed  with  cords  to  the  roller  at  one  extrem 
ity,  and  his  hands  at  the  other,  and  a  man  was 
turning  it  occasionally  with  an  air  of  unconcern. 
Master  Dyer,  a  man  with  a  broad,  stolid  face,  sat 
writing  at  a  table.  Job  was  beyond  any  complaints 
or  remonstrances.  His  breathing  was  thick  and 
hard,  his  eyes  turned  and  glazed ;  the  clover-blossom 
had  left  his  cheek,  which  was  deadly  pale  ;  cold  beads 
like  death-dew  stood  over  his  forehead  and  temples, 
and  his  lips  were  shrunk  and  quivering.  His  kind- 
hearted  mistress,  who  had  heard  nothing  of  what 
was  going  on  in  the  jail,  uttered  an  involuntary 
groan,  and  kneeled  down  and  buried  her  face  on 
the  breast  of  her  faithful  old  servant.  Recovered 
from  her  first  agony  of  heart,  she  turned  and  asked, 
in  deprecating  tone,  "  Good  Master  Dyer,  what  is 
this  for,  and  who  has  ordered  it  ?  " 

Master  Dyer  explained :  "  The  master  of  this 
man  lies  under  a  charge  of  treason,  and  has  con- 
10 


110  THE    EXILE. 

cealed  himself  somewhere.  The  man  can  be  re 
lieved  any  moment,  by  just  telling  what  he  knows. 
Or  his  master  can  relieve  him,  by  just  giving  him 
self  up." 

And  Master  Dyer  went  to  writing  again  with  a 
look  that  said,  "  Don't  interrupt  me  again." 

"  I  think,"  said  the  good  woman,  "  that  I  am  the 
person  to  give  you  this  information.  I  know  my 
husband's  whereabouts  better  than  this  man  does, 
of  which  matter,  I  assure  you,  he  is  completely  ig 
norant." 

"  Why  did  n't  the  old  fool  say  so  then  ?  "  said  Dyer, 
in  a  guttural  voice,  looking  half  round  from  his 
paper. 

u  You  must  release  him,  Master  Dyer,  or  a  higher 
power  will  take  him  out  of  your  hands.  He  is  fast 
going  where  no  secrets  are  told." 

"  I  will  relieve  him,  Madam,  if  you  will  produce 
your  husband." 

"  Nay,  Master  Dyer,  I  have  not  the  keeping  of  my 
husband ;  but  I  will  tell  you  all  that  Job  can  tell 
you,  and  a  great  deal  more,  if  you  will  only  let  him 
go." 

"  Tell  where  your  husband  can  be  found,  and  thy 
old  ballad-grinder  can  be  relieved ;  but  if  not,  I  swear 
to  you  he  shall  be  screwed  up  till  he  cracks  in  two  " 

"  That  I  promise  you,  on  my  honor,  I  will  tell 
you.  If  I  do  not,  you  may  put  me  in  his  place,  and 
torture  me  to  your  entire  satisfaction." 

The  screws  were  accordingly  reversed,  and  the 
hunters  had  the  satisfaction  of  learning  that  their 
game  was  beyond  their  reach,  and  had  eluded  their 
toils. 


THE    WIFE.  Ill 

The  good  woman  then  raised  Job  from  his  hard 
bed,  pillowed  his  head  upon  her  breast,  and  wiped 
the  cold  beads  from  his  temples.  After  the  strain 
upon  his  muscles  had  been  relaxed,  there  was  an 
involuntary  quiver  in  his  flesh,  but  his  limbs  hung 
loose  and  flexile,  and  he  sank  into  that  entire  un 
consciousness,  the  last  gift  of  mercy  to  our  poor, 
suffering  nature.  She  bathed  his  flesh  gently  in 
tepid  water,  but  with  no  result ;  and  she  sighed  to 
herself,  "  Alas !  he  has  sung  his  last  song."  The 
tears  were  dripping  fast  down  upon  his  cheek,  when 
he  opened  his  eyes  and  looked  up  into  a  familiar 
face,  sweeter  to  him  at  that  hour  than  the  face  of 
an  angel.  For  long  weeks  he  had  looked  only  on 
the  hard  features  of  cruel  men,  and  he  had  to  collect 
his  wits  before  persuading  himself  that  he  had 
waked  up  in  this  world.  "  Ah,  good  my  Lady 
Anne!"  was  all  he  could  say.  She  nursed  him  for 
days,  doubtful  whether  the  fluttering  life  would  stay 
in  his  half-dislocated  limbs. 

She  sought  the  apartment  of  Lottie,  and  did 
what  she  could  to  pour  healing  oil  over  her  lacer 
ated  sympathies.  Stretched  in  spirit  on  the  rack 
of  her  father,  all  her  nerves  had  been  wrung  till  her 
mind  was  on  that  verge  that  separates  between 
reason  and  maniac  frenzy.  Her  eye  was  wild,  and 
already  saw  the  spectral  tormenters,  and  she  heard 
shrieks  that  were  not  of  earth  ;  till  reassured  on  the 
breast  of  her  beloved  mistress,  her  nerves  were 
soothed  and  stilled,  and  in  the  thought  that  her 
father  was  relieved  from  the  torture,  the  crushing 
agony  was  lifted  off  her  heart. 


112  THE    EXILE. 

And  now  the  question  came  back  to  this  good 
woman  :  Have  I  saved  these  people  from  the  rack, 
only  that  they  may  be  kept  for  a  more  terrible  fate  ? 
The  charge  of  Lollardism  was  still  in  reserve.  Job 
had  touched  the  quick  of  theologic  hate,  a  passion 
never  known  to  be  appeased  except  by  blood  since 
the  world  began. 


CHAPTER    XVI. 

GOING  TO   COURT. 

ON  the  29th  of  May,  1536,  there  was  one  of  those 
pageants  in  London,  so  often  enacted  during  the 
reigns  of  the  Tudors.  It  was  not  a  coronation ;  a 
coronation  for  every  new  queen  was  too  expensive 
a  matter  for  the  purse  of  Henry.  There  were 
splendid  banquetings  and  masqueradings  at  Mer 
cer's  Hall,  —  the  place  where  Henry  chose  to  intro 
duce  a  new  queen  to  his  people.  It  was  one  of  the 
pageantries  in  which  the  satellites  of  royalty  were 
required  to  shine  their  part,  and  in  which  the  Kny- 
vets  and  the  Bernerses  generally  appeared.  Who 
the  "  Lady  Kny vet "  was  who  figures  among  the 
"  ladies  and  gentlewomen  attendant,"  we  do  not 
know,  but  judge  from  the  circumstances  that  it  was 
one  of  the  sisters  of  our  "  good  Lady  Anne,"  or  one 
of  her  cousins,  the  daughters  of  Sir  Thomas.*  No 
matter.  On  this  29th  of  May  the  Thames,  at  sun 
set,  is  alive  with  barges  coming  up  from  Greenwich 


*  Lives  of  the  Queens.     See  the  list  of  the  royal  attendants  in  the 
Life  of  Katharine  Howard. 
10* 


114  THE    EXILE. 

and  from  the  Tower,  barges  "  freshly  furnished  with 
banners  and  streamers  of  silk"  ;  all  the  way  "trum 
pets,  shawms,  and  other  divers  instruments,  playing 
and  making  great  melody."  And  in  the  evening, 
Mercer's  Hall  is  filled  with  rejoicings  and  congratu 
lations,  in  the  centre  of  which  is  a  rather  prim  and 
sour-looking  lady,  with  high  cheeks  and  a  somewhat 
Tartar  profile,  flaring  in  jewelry,  and  who  is  writ 
ten  down  by  historians,  as  doubtless  in  duty  bound, 
"  the  beautiful  Jane  Seymour,  the  most  prudent  of 
all  the  queens  of  Henry." 

This  beautiful  and  prudent  Jane,  whose  Tartar 
face  the  unerring  pencil  of  Holbein  has  preserved 
to  us,  was  Queen  Ann  Boleyn's  "  maid  of  honor," 
which  honor  she  manifested  by  coquetting  with  the 
King,  supplanting  and  circumventing  her  mistress  ; 
and  at  an  hour  when  her  mistress  was  in  special 
need  of  feminine  sympathy  and  support,  she  sent  a 
pang  through  her  heart  by  her  treachery,  that  de 
stroyed  a  promised  heir  to  the  throne,  and  left  the 
mother  to  the  brutal  insults  of  her  royal  husband. 
This  beautiful  and  prudent  maid  of  honor  prepared 
for  her  wedding-day,  while  her  queen  mistress  was 
under  that  awful  sentence  of  death  which  her  own 
treachery  had  procured.  She  wedded  the  King  on 
the  20th  of  May,  —  the  day  after  Ann,  her  rival, 
was  sent  to  the  block,  and  while  her  mangled  and 
once  lovely  form  was  lying  yet  warm  under  the 
floors  of  St.  Peter's  chapel.  Such  is  the  new  star 
to  which  the  gentlemen  and  gentlewomen  of  Eng 
land  are  summoned  to  do  homage.  There  must 
have  been  gloom  and  depression  of  spirits  under  this 


GOING    TO    COURT.  115 

outward  glare.  There  must  have  been  sadness  of 
heart  to  a  large  extent  under  the  silks  and  starred 
velvet  at  Mercer's  Hall.  At  that  moment  the  exe 
cution  of  Ann  lay  heavy  on  the  hearts  of  Protes 
tant  subjects,  and  rebellion  was  looming  up  sullenly 
in  the  northern  counties  among  Catholics.  The 
latter  bewailed  the  desecration  of  their  faith,  the 
abolishing  of  their  festal  days,  and  the  dissolving  of 
the  monasteries,  whose  outcast  inmates,  both  men 
and  women,  were  swarming  in  thousands  over  the 
land,  and  begging  for  bread  and  shelter.  While  this 
show  of  rejoicing  was  going  on  among  the  gentry 
at  London,  victims  hung  gibbeted  in  chains  over 
the  country  ;  and  soon  the  banks  of  all  the  rivers  in 
the  North  of  England  were  to  be  lined  with  rows 
of  quartered  traitors. 

It  was  in  this  state  of  things  that  a  woman  ap 
peared  at  Mercer's  Hall,  on  this  29th  of  May,  for 
other  purposes  than  to  do  homage  to  the  new  star, 
with  those  who  were  ducking  around  the  court  of 
the  Blue-Beard  King.  It  is  none  other  than  our 
good  Lady  Anne,  seeking  her  father  among  the 
starred  velvet,  and  pouring  a  child's  earnest  entrea 
ties  into  his  ear.  We  are  not  admitted  to  the  inter 
view  between  the  father  and  the  afflicted  but  well- 
beloved  daughter,  now  before  him  in  her  beauty 
and  tears.  But  we  know  pretty  well  what  passed 
between  them,  —  that  Sir  Edmund  used  all  his  per 
suasions  to  rescue  her  from  the  falling  fortunes  of 
her  obstinate  husband,  and  that  she  used  every  ar 
gument  which  she  thought  could  reach  a  father's 
heart  to  intercede  for  the  royal  clemency.  Sir  Ed- 


116  THE    EXILE. 

mund  knew  better  than  she  that  he  might  ask  for  a 
blessing  and  receive  a  double  curse,  even  at  that 
hour  of  nuptial  rejoicings,  when  tyrants,  if  ever,  are 
disposed  to  mercy.  He  was  too  cautious  to  touch 
upon  the  subject  of  the  attainder  of  Sayer  in  the 
royal  presence,  for  he  was  too  finished  a  courtier 
not  to  know  that  to  disturb  the  question  of  the  oath 
of  supremacy  would  pitch  him  pretty  suddenly, 
not  only  from  the  office  of  "  Sergent  Porter  to  the 
King,"  but  from  any  comfortable  standing-place 
whatsoever. 

Howbeit,  our  good  Lady  Anne  returned  to  Col 
chester  with  a  brave  heart,  glad,  we  may  be  sure, 
to  get  out  of  the  sphere  of  the  hollow  rejoicings  of 
Mercer's  Hall.  She  sought  Master  Dyer  as  soon 
as  she  arrived.  Master  Dyer  exercised  the  double 
function  of  priest  and  keeper  of  an  alehouse,  — 
functions  less  incongruous  than  often  were  united 
in  the  same  person  in  these  times.*  She  demanded 
of  him  the  release  of  her  servants,  in  terms  rather 
more  lofty  than  he  had  been  wont  to  hear,  and, 
while  her  Plantagenet  blood  was  up,  denounced 
him  for  his  baseness  and  his  cruelties.  In  reply,  he 
swore  that  her  servants  should  go  to  the  stake,  and 

*  See  a  curious  letter  to  Cromwell,  in  the  state  papers,  quoted  by 
Knight,  Pictorial  England,  Book  VI.  Chap.  I.  "  His  grace,  the  King, 
hath  a  priest  that  yearly  maketh  his  hawks,  and  this  year  hath  made 
him  two  which  kill  their  game  very  well,  and  for  the  pain  which  the 
said  priest  taketh  about  them  his  Majesty  would  that  he  should  have 
one  of  Mr.  Bedell's  benefices.  And  thus  the  blessed  Trinity  have  your 
good  lordship  in  his  most  blessed  preservation."  Sec  also  Latimer's  Ser 
mons,  who  speaks  of  "uniting  the  calling  of  a  tapster  to  that  of 
preaching  the  Gospel." 


GOING    TO    COURT.  117 

she  with  them,  and  that  shortly  ;  when  she  handed 
him  a  paper,  which,  as  he  glanced  over  it,  stopped 
his  words,  and  drove  the  color  from  his  stolid  face. 
A  name  was  on  the  paper  at  which  stouter  men 
than  Master  Dyer  had  turned  pale.  He  became 
soft  and  pliant  enough,  ducking  his  square  head 
in  a  thousand  obeisances,  and  was  not  long  in  writ 
ing  an  order  for  the  release  of  Job  and  Lottie.  As 
she  left  him,  she  fixed  her  black  eye  upon  him, 
while  he  quailed  under  it.  "  If  I  hear  a  word  more 
of  your  cruelties,  know,  sir,  that  I  have  the  means  at 
my  command  of  hanging  up  your  carcass  to  swing 
as  a  sign  over  the  doors  of  your  own  alehouse." 

Truth  is,  the  lampooning  of  priests  and  monks 
was  the  most  venial  of  all  offences  in  the  eye  of 
Henry,  —  always  providing  the  supremacy  and  tran- 
substantiation  were  undisturbed ;  and  if  he  had 
heard  the  song  of  Boxley  Rood,  he  would  have 
shaken  his  huge  dropsies  for  an  hour  afterwards. 

Job  and  Lottie  were  taken  from  prison,  where 
now  they  had  remained  for  months,  and  carefully 
nursed  in  Bourchier  Hall.  It  was  some  time  be 
fore  Job  could  sit  in  his  chair ;  one  of  his  joints  was 
plucked  asunder.  But  ere  many  weeks  were  gone, 
he  was  sitting  in  the  porter's  lodge,  with  little  John 
ny  climbing  over  him,  brushing  his  cheek  with  his 
yellow  curls,  and  teasing  for  a  song;  and  as  the 
song  came,  for  it  never  failed,  the  little  fellow  would 
shake  with  laughter,  till  the  tears  started,  and  he 
finally  rolled  in  convulsions  over  the  floor. 


CHAPTER    XVII. 

FAREWELL. 

ON  one  of  the  calmest  evenings  in  the  month  of 
June,  a  vessel  was  lying  in  the  small  harbor  of  Col 
chester  waiting  for  a  favoring  breeze.  Bourchier 
Hall,  we  have  said,  was  situated  six  miles  above. 
The  river  Colne  is  only  navigable  as  far  as  the  city. 
Between  the  Hall  and  the  city  the  passage  is  by  a 
small  boat  or  skiff,  and  in  this  the  exiles  have  em 
barked,  after  nightfall,  to  pass  down  the  stream  to 
the  waiting  vessel.  It  had  been  the  policy  of  the 
Knyvets  to  detain  perforce  the  Lady  Anne,  and  pre 
vent  her  from  going  to  her  husband.  She  was  vir 
tually  a  prisoner  in  Bourchier  Hall  for  nearly  a  year 
after  Richard's  escape.  But  she  has  found  means 
to  elude  the  vigilance  of  the  watch,  —  a  vigilance 
which  became  rather  sleepy,  probably  through  de 
sign.  She  and  her  child  and  servants  have  found 
their  way  to  the  skiff,  and  two  sturdy  boatmen  are 
rowing  them  down  the  stream.  She  watches  the 
receding  fields,  clothed  in  the  dearest  of  home  mem 
ories,  now  sleeping  under  the  silvery  sheen  of  the 
unclouded  heavens.  Bourchier  Hall  is  watched  as 


FAREWELL.  119 

it  recedes,  long  visible  on  the  top  of  the  hill,  its  tur 
rets  tipped  with  moonbeams  and  cutting  their  out 
line  on  the  blue  sky  beyond.  The  grounds  around 
it  can  be  distinguished,  the  walks  with  fringing 
flowers,  even  the  clematis  that  climbed  up  over 
the  doorway  and  hung  down  its  white  blossoms,  — 
all  fading  off  into  dimness  for  ever.  She  sits  statue- 
like,  with  folded  arms,  her  face  fixed  towards  the 
spot  where,  a  short  time  ago,  she  came  a  rejoicing 
bride.  But  they  soon  reach  the  vessel,  in  which 
they  safely  embark.  They  drop  down  the  Colne ; 
the  city  of  Colchester  grows  dim  and  far  off.  They 
pass  into  the  great  German  Ocean ;  the  day  dawns 
only  upon  the  boundless  waters,  and  England,  with 
all  its  oppressions  and  miseries,  has  sunk  in  the 
Western  main. 


CHAPTER    XVIII. 


AT  SEA. 

THERE  was  a  gloomy  silence  on  the  deck  as  the 
exiles  sat  and  looked  blank  into  the  sea,  while  the 
vessel  tossed  them  over  the  waves.  Lady  Anne  and 
her  two  servants  sat  cowering  towards  the  stern, 
looking  away  in  the  direction  where  Old  England 
had  disappeaiedt  Presently  Johnny  appeared  upon 
deck,  fresh  from  the  night's  repose.  What  were 
the  past  and  the  future  to  him  ?  Lottie  had  im 
pressed  two  things  upon  his  mind :  first,  not  to  lose 
his  cap  overboard ;  secondly,  not  to  fall  over  him 
self  and  get  drowned  in  the  great  German  Ocean. 
He  readily  promised  to  do  neither.  In  fact,  he  had 
no  intention  of  it.  So  he  ran  to  and  fro,  cap  in 
hand,  his  feet  pattering  over  the  deck,  throwing 
back  his  head,  and  giving  his  face  to  the  breeze, 
Ihat  played  fantastic  tricks  with  his  streaming  curls. 
Then  he  tossed  his  cap  straight  up  towards  the  top 
of  ihc  mast,  leaving  to  the  cap  the  whole  responsi 
bility  of  coming  straight  down  again;  but  it  sailed 
oil'  into  the  sea,  where  it  could  be  seen  by  its  silver 
lace  tossing  on  the  waves.  Lottie  gave  him  fresh 


AT    SEA.  121 

instructions,  but  before  they  were  finished  he  was 
off  again  ;  and  in  his  next  appearance  he  rained 
down  upon  her  head,  crushing  her  bonnet  into  a 
trapezoid.  The  sea-breeze  agreed  with  him. 

Job  sat  leaning  iiis  chin  upon  the  rail,  looking 
down  into  the  vessel's  track  of  hissing  and  flashing 
foam,  humming  pensive  snatches  from  the  "  Song 
of  Exile,"  which  ran  something  in  this  wise :  — 

"  The  ghostly  moon  above  the  hall 

Was  hanging  pale  and  still  ; 
It  showed  the  hawthorn  up  the  lano, 
The  woodbine  on  the  hill. 

"  The  ghostly  moon  was  hanging  low 

Just  o'er  the  moving  mast, 
And  coldly  looked  the  gloaming  stars, 
When  Mary  looked  her  last. 

"  The  ghostly  moon  was  on  the  fields ; 

The  fields  did  seem  to  mourn ; 
The  harebells  hang  their  pretty  cups 
Till  Mary  shall  return. 

"  The  ghostly  moon  was  on  the  sea ; 

The  wind  sang  soft  its  lay  ; 
Yet  sighed  the  wind  right  mournfully 
To  bear  the  bark  away." 

We  think  there  was  more  of  it;  but  here  the 
ubiquitous  boy  appeared  suddenly,  caught  the  hat 
of  the  old  minstrel,  and  was  off  and  away.  Job 
soon  came  to  himself,  and  was  in  full  chase  after 
his  property,  expecting  to  see  it  sail  into  the  water. 
Master  Dyer  had  not  improved  his  agility,  though, 
after  doublings  and  turnings,  he  came  back  with 
his  hat,  exclaiming,  with  his  biggest  oath,  "  Saint 
George !  I  believe  that  boy  is  getting  vicious." 
ii 


±22  THE    EXILE. 

The  boy  followed  him,  teasing  for  the  other  exile 
song,  which  Job  refused  to  sing,  as  altogether 
unsuited  to  his  present  feelings,  and  totally  inap 
propriate  ;  but,  like  other  singers,  he  yielded  to 
importunity :  — 

"  The  raging  sea,  the  boiling  sea  ! 

How  wild  the  waters  foam  ! 

But  blithely  rolls  the  raging  sea 

That  bears  the  exile  home. 

"  The  windes  from  off  the  Norseman's  hills 

Doe  shriek  a  dismall  song : 
There  's  music  in  the  shrieking  windes 
That  drive  my  barke  along. 

"  The  hills  are  rising  near  and  fast 

Out  from  the  breaking  sea : 
O  now  I  see  my  father's  house, 
Beside  my  father's  tree ! 

"  I  see  the  orchard  on  the  moor 

Where  I  and  Jennie  played  :  — 
O  what  if  Jennie  should  be  trothed, 
Or  Jennie  should  be  dead  ! 

"  Mayhap  a  lovelorn  maid  she  sits, 
To  watch  the  heaving  main :  — 
O  there  are  Jennie's  twinkling  feet 
A-tripping  down  the  lane ! 

"  And  now  to  find  a  welcome  home, 

From  tossings  to  and  fro, 
On  Jennie's  cheeks  and  cherry  lips, 
Where  rareripe  kisses  grow ! " 

There  was  a  pause  again,  and  Job  grew  solemn, 
and,  looking  at  Lady  Anne,  intimated  that  he  had 
a  better  exile  song  than  this,  and  perhaps  better 
suited  to  her  feelings.  The  good  soul  was  thinking 
of  his  mistress,  and  how  he  could  comfort  her. 


AT    SEA.  123 

"  What  is  it,  Job  ?    Do  you  want  to  sing  to  me  ?" 

"  If  my  good  lady  will  condescend  to  listen,  old 
Job  will  see  if  he  has  not  something  she  would 
like." 

"  O  yes,  Job !  I  often  listen  when  you  don't  know 
it,  and  envy  almost  your  gushes  of  happiness,  that 
come  up  so  freshly  out  of  misfortune." 

The  faithful  old  servant  tuned  his  pipes  anew, 
looking  up  into  the  heavens  ;  and  this  time  he  sang 
with  such  unction  that  it  brought  all  the  clover 
back  to  his  cheek,  and  sent  all  his  soul  into  his  eye. 

"  The  raging  sea,  the  boiling  sea ! 

How  wild  the  waters  foam  ! 

But  blithely  rolls  the  raging  sea 

That  wafts  the  exile  home. 

"  A  breeze  from  off  the  Blessed  Isles 

The  snow-white  canvas  fills ; 
And  yonder,  yonder,  heave  in  sight 
The  everlasting  hills ! 

" 4  Ye  hosts  !  that  throng  those  heights  in  robes 

Of  unconsuming  flame, 
And  touch  your  golden  Citharons, 
O  tell  me  whence  ye  came ! ' 

"  '  We  came  through  storms  and  seas  of  blood, 

Like  those  whereon  ye  sail ; 
But  when  Christ  Jesus  took  the  helm, 
The  ship  rode  out  the  gale ! '  " 

"  I  thank  you,  Job,  for  your  consolations.  That 
song  has  a  note  of  triumph  which  I  fear  we  cannot 
take  up  just  now.  Do  you  remember  that  hyrnn 
on  the  Love  of  God,  which  you  said  the  monks 
used  to  chant  at  their  responsals  in  the  abbey  ?  " 


124  THE    EXILE. 

"  Yes,  my  good  lady,  —  hum  —  hum  —  hum  — 
The  last  time  I  heard  it,  Father  Bache  sang  the 
refrain  " ;  and  Job  wiped  a  tear  from  his  eye. 

"  Thou  Grace  Divine  encircling  all, 

A  soundless,  shoreless  sea  ! 
Wherein  at  last  our  souls  shall  fall, 
O  Love  of  God  most  free ! 

"  When  over  dizzy  steeps  we  go, 

One  soft  hand  blinds  our  eyes, 
The  other  leads  us  safe  and  slow, 
O  Love  of  God  most  wise  ! 

"  And  though  we  turn  us  from  thy  face, 

And  wander  wide  and  long, 
Thou  hold'st  us  still  in  thine  embrace, 
O  Love  of  God  most  strong  ! 

"  The  saddened  heart,  the  restless  soul, 

The  toil-worn  frame  and  mind, 
Alike  confess  thy  sweet  control, 
O  Love  of  God  most  kind  ! 

"  But  not  alone  thy  care  we  claim, 

Our  wayward  steps  to  win  : 
We  know  thee  by  a  dearer  name, 
O  Love  of  God  within  ! 

"And  filled  and  quickened  by  thy  breath, 

Our  souls  are  strong  and  free 
To  rise  o'er  sin  and  fear  and  death, 
O  Love  of  God,  to  thee  !  "  * 

*  This  hymn  preserves  the  very  flavor  of  the  old  Catholic  piety. 
We  did  not  find  it,  hoAvever,  among  family  papers,  and  never  should 
have  heard  of  it  if  it  had  not  lately  sung  itself  anew  through  a  femi 
nine  genius  in  the  Old  Colony. 


CHAPTER    XIX. 

AMSTERDAM. 

THE  river  Amstel  is  a  small  stream,  that  rolls  its 
lazy  waters  through  marshy  grounds  into  an  arm  of 
the  Zuyder  Zee.  At  the  beginning  of  the  thirteenth 
century  its  banks  were  in  possession  of  a  set  of  bur 
ly  lords,  whose  vassals  rowed  their  fishing-smacks 
down  the  river  into  the  open  sea ;  and  in  process 
of  time  a  small  fishing  village  sprang  up  at  the 
mouth  of  the  stream.  It  was  under  the  control  of 
the  grim  lords  of  the  Amstel,  and  its  commercial 
privileges  were  few  and  insignificant.  But  one  of 
these  surly  governors  became  implicated  in  the 
murder  of  Count  Floris  of  Holland,  and  the  Hol 
landers  fell  upon  them,  attacked  and  plundered  their 
village,  overthrew  their  little  dynasty,  and  took 
entire  possession  of  Amstelland.  Under  its  new 
governors,  the  fishing  village  rose  into  importance 
and  privilege,  and  grew  rapidly  into  the  great  city 
of  Amsterdam,  the  Venice  of  the  Northern  Sea. 
By  the  year  1537  it  had  become  rich  and  prosper 
ous.  It  lay  on  the  Zuyder  Zee  in  the  shape  of  a 
half-moon,  bending  its  two  horns  up  to  the  water 


126  THE    EXILE. 

and  having  its  harbor  between  them.  The  Am- 
stel  flowed  through  the  middle  of  the  crescent, 
dividing  the  city  about  equally.  Around  the  land 
side,  and  forming  the  outer  curve  of  the  crescent, 
was  raised  a  huge  embankment,  buttressed  with 
stone,  wide  enough  on  the  top  to  be  planted  with 
trees,  and  be  converted  into  walks  and  boulevards. 
Here  too,  at  regular  intervals,  stood  wind-mills, 
always  swinging  their  gigantic  arms,  both  to  pump 
up  water  and  grind  the  corn. 

The  ground  on  which  the  city  stands  is  lower 
than  the  ocean,  and  lower  than  the  river.  The 
houses  are  built  on  piles  driven  into  the  marshy 
earth ;  but  the  marshes  have  all  disappeared,  and 
given  place  to  winding  canals.  The  streets  are 
polygonal,  and  correspond  with  the  bend  of  the 
crescent ;  and  the  three  which  form  the  outer  verge 
of  it  —  the  Heeren,  the  Keysers,  and  the  Princen  — 
are  even  at  this  day  as  fine  as  the  streets  of  any  city 
in  Europe.  The  intersecting  canals  divide  the  city 
into  ninety  islands,  so  that  when  you  enter  it  you 
do  not  order  a  carriage,  but  a  canal-boat,  on  which 
you  move  by  water  to  any  quarter  of  the  town. 
As  you  pass,  you  look  upon  paved  walks  bordered 
by  rows  of  trees  that  extend  continuously  on  either 
side  of  you  their  grateful  umbrage,  in  front  of  the 
endless  rows  of  brick  houses  with  their  gables  to 
wards  you.  Should  your  boat  take  you  into  the 
Keysers  or  the  Princen,  past  the  rich  merchants 
and  the  burgomasters,  you  shall  find  these  houses 
to  be  splendid  structures  of  five  stories.  Such  is 
the  great,  busy  city,  in  which  there  is  no  sound  of 


AMSTERDAM.  127 

rattling  wheels.  Curious  it  is,  that,  though  one  of 
the  most  commercial  places  of  the  world,  its  in 
habitants  never  "  go  down  to  the  sea  in  ships,"  — 
they  always  go  up.  The  ocean  with  his  eternal 
motion  and  roar  is  above  you,  suggesting  constant 
ly  what  would  happen  should  he  break  through  his 
embankment ;  to  prevent  which  catastrophe  the  won 
derful  industry  of  man,  by  a  huge  wall  of  Norway 
granite,  seems  to  have  repeated  the  Almighty  fiat, 
"  Thus  far  shalt  thou  come,  and  no  farther."  At 
the  period  of  which  we  write,  that  eighth  wonder 
of  the  world,  the  "  Stadt-house,"  had  not  lifted  up 
its  enormous  mass  above  the  other  buildings,  but 
the  city  was  in  the  flood-tide  of  its  prosperity,  and 
its  crescent  lay  like  a  queenly  crown  on  the  Zuy- 
der  Zee. 

As  you  walk  along  the  harbor  forming  the  inner 
edge  of  the  half-moon,  the  city  lies  below  you,  with 
its  crescent-shaped  streets,  jts  innumerable  spires, 
its  canals  threading  their  way  in  all  directions,  and 
involving  the  whole  city  in  their  silvery  network 
that  gleams  in  spots  out  of  the  shade.  The  min 
gled  sounds  of  Dutch  trade  and  jargon  come  up  to 
your  ear,  not  much  mellowed  by  distance.  Here 
our  old  friend  and  fugitive  from  tyranny,  Richard 
Sayer,  has  been  pacing  nearly  every  day  for  twelve 
months,  looking  down  sometimes  into  the  city  of 
Dutchmen,  —  seeing  the  boats  glide  among  the 
shade-trees,  hearing  the  noises  of  strange  tongues 
from  the  life  that  swarms  along  the  canals  and 
about  the  warehouses,  —  looking  away,  we  may  be 
assured,  over  the  expanse  of  surging  waters,  with 


128  THE    EXILE. 

wearisome  expectations  and  longings.  Every  sail 
that  nears  the  harbor  is  watched  with  anxious  spec 
ulation  ;  and  it  was  one  of  those  moments  which 
gather  up  into  themselves  the  rapture  of  years,  and 
atone  for  long  months  of  exile,  when  his  eye  dis 
tinguished,  on  the  nearing  deck,  his  child  and  two 
faithful  servants,  and  when  again  he  held  to  his 
heart  her  whom  he  "  singled  from  the  world." 

Lady  Anne  arrived  with  her  faithful  charge  some 
twelve  months  after  her  husband  had  left  her. 
Thus  early  had  Amsterdam  begun  to  be  a  city  of 
refuge,  and  many  were  already  there  who  had 
escaped  the  tyranny  of  the  Blue-Beard  monster 
who  now  disgraced  the  English  throne.  The  Neth 
erlands  at  this  period  belonged  to  the  dominions  of 
Charles  the  Fifth.  The  Roman  Catholic  religion 
was  the  reigning  and  established  one,  and  there 
was  not  yet  perfect  toleration  for  Protestant  sub 
jects.  The  struggle  was  yet  before  them  which 
was  to  establish  the  great  principle  of  religious 
liberty,  that  struggle  against  the  tyranny  of  the  cold 
and  ruthless  Philip  the  Second  of  Spain,  in  the 
progress  of  which  shone  forth  the  most  heroic  vir 
tues  of  which  man  is  capable,  and  which  issued  in 
giving  to  the  united  Netherlands  the  enviable  glory 
of  being  the  first  nation  to  establish  the  doctrine 
of  religious  toleration.  At  the  period  of  which  we 
write,  English  Catholics  were  specially  welcomed 
and  protected  in  the  dominions  of  Charles.  He 
was  the  nephew  of  Katharine  of  Aragon,  —  the 
first  queen  of  Henry,  and  the  victim  of  his  brutal 
tyranny ;  and  Charles  had  threatened  vengeance  for 


AMSTERDAM.  129 

the  treatment  of  his  beloved  kinswoman  and  her 
daughter  Mary.  In  the  Netherlands,  Richard  Sayer 
with  his  persecuted  family  was  sure  to  find  a  peace 
ful  asylum.  As  he  received  his  family  and  ser 
vants,  and  took  them  by  boat  through  the  city,  they 
witnessed  sights  and  sounds  very  strange  to  Eng 
lish  eyes  and  ears.  Amsterdam  already  was  choked 
and  crammed  with  life.  Under  splendid  mansions 
were  cellars  occupied  by  the  poorer  classes.  Out  of 
these,  dirty  children  and  dirty  women  were  swarm 
ing  with  a  perfect  Babel  of  tongues.  Boats  they 
pass,  on  which  lived  whole  families  who  had  no 
home  except  upon  the  water ;  whose  parlor,  dormi 
tory,  and  kitchen  were  upon  the  upper  deck,  which 
emitted  all  sounds  and  smells  of  cookery.  Great 
warehouses  they  pass,  where  boats  are  unlading 
the  products  of  every  clime,  and  where  the  jargon 
of  trade  heard  in  Dutch  gibberish  makes  double 
confusion.  Things  improve  vastly  as  they  pass 
into  the  Princen,  and  are  drawn  up  the  silent  high 
way  between  rows  of  shade-trees.  There,  away 
from  the  din  and  the  tumult,  they  land  at  a  five- 
story  dwelling,  whose  two  upper  stories  they  take 
possession  of,  and  whose  windows  at  the  gable-end 
are  shaded  by  stately  chestnuts,  and  sometimes 
brushed  by  the  quivering  boughs. 


CHAPTER    XX. 


LITE  AND  DEATH  IN  AMSTERDAM. 

FOR  three  years  the  exiles  lived  in  their  new 
residence,  deprived  of  many  of  the  outward  com 
forts  which  pertained  to  Bourchier  Hall,  but  in  the 
full  enjoyment  of  that  never-failing  fountain  of 
peace,  a  conscience  undefiled.  There  is  a  beautiful 
law  of  compensation  to  those  who  attain  to  a  clear 
consciousness  of  Divine  favor  through  the  rugged 
path  of  self-sacrifice.  As  the  outward  enjoyments 
are  given  up,  the  inward  satisfactions  become  in 
tense  and  pure.  Richard  found  himself,  not  only 
an  exile  from  his  country,  but  disinherited  from  his 
paternal  fortunes.  But  he  had  enough  for  the  wants 
of  to-day ;  he  had  cast  himself  on  that  Providence 
that  guides  all  things  to  their  consummation ;  and, 
in  his  retreat  from  the  angry  storm,  he  waited  the 
issue  in  all  tranquillity.  One  truth  at  least  his  trials 
had  revealed  to  him  in  clearer  brightness,  —  the  real 
ity  of  human  virtue ;  for  the  heroic  woman  who 
shared  his  fortunes,  and  the  faithful  servants  who 
held  their  lives  secondary  to  his  safety,  gave  grate 
ful  demonstration  that  there  was  a  nobility  in  hu- 


LIFE    AND    DEATH    IN    AMSTERDAM. 

mankind  which  could  not  be  crushed  out 
rants. 

As  for  Job  and  Lottie,  they  found  full  scope  in 
domestic  responsibilities  for  all  their  assiduities,  and 
they  kept  the  house  lit  up  with  their  sunny  be 
nevolence.  Slowly,  nevertheless,  rolled  the  heavy 
years  of  the  exile.  Sometimes  he  paced  the  boule 
vards,  casting  a  longing  look  towards  England. 
Sometimes  he  sought  the  society  of  his  brother 
exiles,  and  talked  over  the  affairs  of  home,  from 
which  fresh  news  arrived  almost  every  day  of  the 
atrocities  of  the  new  Pope,  "the  Supreme  Head" 
of  the  Church  of  England.  Sometimes  he  sat  at 
the  windows  in  the  Princen,  looking  down  into  the 
navigable  street  and  watching  the  boats  as  they 
glided  along.  Nothing,  however,  disturbed  his 
tranquillity  of  mind,  or  broke  the  strain  of  thanks 
giving  that  never  ceased  to  go  up  from  his  heart, 
that  he  had  followed  and  obeyed  the  supreme  law, 
and  preserved  the  whiteness  of  an  innocent  mind. 

But  his  short  and  troublous  life  was  nearly  done. 
The  climate  of  Amsterdam,  though  well  enough 
adapted  to  Dutch  habits  and  constitutions,  was  ill 
adapted  to  one  bred  on  the  Colchester  hills.  An 
offensive,  mephitic  air  always  rises  from  the  canals ; 
and  so  low  is  the  site  of  the  town,  that  the  winds 
find  small  chance  for  its  thorough  ventilation. 
They  sweep  above  the  city  with  sufficient-fury  from 
the  German  Ocean,  setting  the  windmills  a  whirl 
all  round  the  boulevards,  without  changing  the  air 
beneath  that  lies  dead  along  the  streets  and  canals. 
Richard  had  been  breathing  disease  now  three 


132  THE    EXILE. 

years  into  his  hardy  frame,  and  the  time  for  its 
fearful  development  had  come.  Oppressed  with 
pain  and  languor,  he  had  walked  the  afternoon  upon 
the  boulevards  in  order  to  catch  the  breeze;  but 
coming  in  at  night,  it  became  evident  that  the  fever 
was  fixed  fast  upon  him.  For  long  days  and  nights 
trains  of  confused  and  ever-changing  imagery  swept 
in  fantasy  through  the  hot  and  throbbing  brain  ;  — 
long  processions  wheeling  through  endless  streets, 
led  on  by  the  headsman  and  his  bloody  axe ;  then 
changing  into  pompous  cavalcades,  that  march  in 
sight  of  his  home  on  the  Colchester  hills,  himself 
marching  with  them  till  parched  with  thirst  and 
worn  with  fatigue,  yet  getting  no  nearer  to  his  an 
cestral  bowers,  that  mock  and  tantalize  him  in  the 
distance ;  then  walking  alone  through  files  of  grin 
ning  faces,  among  which  are  his  own  kindred, 
looking  for  his  wife  and  child,  and  looking  in  vain ; 
toiling  again  through  wilderness-paths,  seeking  the 
way  home,  but  finding  no  one  to  direct  him  thither. 
So  the  days  of  delirium  passed  on,  till  he  sank  at 
last  into  profound  and  unconscious  sleep.  When 
he  came  out  of  it,  he  looked  up  into  a  face  bent 
anxious  and  sorrowing  over  him,  and  felt  a  soft 
hand  bathing  in  cordials  his  burning  brow.  It  was 
the  face  of  his  faithful  Anne ;  and  he  came  to  him 
self  and  looked  round  on  the  familiar  things  of  his 
exile-home  in  the  Princen.  "  Is  there  any  unusual 
light  in  this  room  ?  "  he  asked  his  wife.  "  I  can 
see  none,"  she  said.  "  Then,"  said  he,  "the  light  of 
eternity  is  coming  on  "  ;  and  he  called  for  his  child 
and  his  servants.  He  asked  to  be  raised  up,  and, 


LIFE  AND  DEATH  IN  AMSTERDAM.       133 

resting  his  head  on  the  breast  of  the  Lady  Anne,  he 
took  Job  and  Lottie  by  the  hand,  thanked  them  for 
all  their  faithfulness  and  truth,  and  breathed  a 
dying  prayer  for  their  welfare  ;  and  then,  with  his 
hand  laid  in  blessing  on  his  child,  charging  him  and 
them  always  to  obey  the  Eternal  Law  for  its  own 
exceeding  great  reward,  he  looked  up  and  saw  the 
beckoning  angels  and  the  opening  gates,  and  passed 
through  them  to  where  the  wicked  cease  from  trou 
bling  and  the  weary  are  at  rest. 

He  was  buried  in  the  land  of  strangers,  according 
to  the  rites  of  the  Catholic  Church,  in  whose  faith 
he  died.  There  were  English  exiles  that  followed 
him  to  his  last  resting-place  on  earth,  but  none, 
after  the  tried  and  faithful  wife,  poured  over  his 
grave  a  more  copious  sorrow  than  the  gray-haired 
old  man  and  his  daughter,  the  girl  of  warm  and 
sunny  heart,  who  had  encountered  racks  and  dun 
geons  rather  than  betray  him  to  his  enemies. 

The  Lady  Anne  did  not  return  to  England.  She 
would  not  have  her  child  educated  amid  the  cruel 
ties  and  the  mockeries  of  the  Henrican  Church. 
She  brought  him  up  in  the  great  commercial  city, 
where  she  lived  to  see  him  a  bold  and  successful 
navigator,  and  where  at  last  she  slept  beside  her 
husband,  whose  fortunes  she  had  shared  faithfully 
to  the  end. 


12 


PART    II. 

THE    ADVENTUKEK. 


"  With  merchandize  ashore 

we  hied  to  trafficke  then, 
Making  the  sea  foam  us  before 

by  force  of  nine  good  men : 
And  rowing  long  at  last 

a  river  we  cspie, 
In  at  the  which  we  bare  full  fast 

to  see  what  there  might  be. 
And  entering  in  we  see 

a  number  of  black  soules 
Whose  likenesses  seemed  men  to  be 

but  all  as  black  as  coles." 
ROBERT  BAKER'S  Rhymed  Narrative.    HAKLUYT,  II.  519. 

"Yet  still  his  claim  the  injured  ocean  laycd 
And  oft  at  leap-frog  o'er  their  steeples  played, 
As  if  on  purpose  it  on  land  had  come 
To  show  them  what  's  their  Mare  Liberum. 
A  daily  deluge  over  them  docs  boil, 
The  earth  and  water  play  at  level-coy  1, 
And  fish  ofttimes  the  burgher  dispossessed, 
And  sat,  not  as  at  meat,  but  as  a  guest." 

MARVEL. 


CHAPTER    I. 


"  Who  's  here  beside  foul  weather  ?  " 

"  One  minded  like  the  weather,  most  unquietly." 


ALL  the  afternoon  there  had  been  a  murky  and 
grizzled  sky,  and  now  the  wind  began  to  drive  the 
rain  before  it  up  into  Plymouth  Bay.  Mrs.  Haw 
kins  is  peering  from  the  upper  balcony,  whence 
through  long  hours  and  days,  these  twenty  years 
and  more,  she  has  been  accustomed  to  look  out 
upon  the  great  waters,  and  watch  for  the  coming 
sail. 

"  You  do  not  think,  mother,  he  will  come  to 
night?"  said  Bessie  Hawkins. 

"  I  can't  tell,  my  sweet  chub ;  but  I  heard  of  his 
being  spoken  by  a  Spaniard  a  month  agone,  and 
he  ought  to  be  in  the  Channel  by  this  time." 

"  I  guess  the  storm  will  abate,  mother,  and  we 
shall  wake  up  to-morrow  morning,  and  find  him 
anchored  safely  in  the  Catwater." 

"  The  storm  will  not  abate,  but  will  rage  dread 
fully  this  night.  Woe  's  my  goodman  if  he  has  to 
beat  up  the  bay  in  such  a  gale ! " 

The  storm  did  not  abate  that  night,  but  Mrs.  Haw- 


138  THE    ADVENTURER. 

kins  knew  she  could  not  still  the  waves,  and  so  she 
kneeled  and  put  up  a  prayer,  repeated  a  thousandth 
time  for  her  dear  sailor  upon  the  deep,  and  she  and 
Bessie  retired  to  rest.  Bessie  thought  she  never 
saw  her  mother  have  such  a  look  of  distress. 

"  Why,  mother,  there  have  been  worse  storms 
than  this,  and  I  never  saw  you  take  on  so.  Have 
you  dreamed  anything  ?  " 

Nothing,  my  chubby.  But  I  felt  from  the  begin 
ning  that  the  Lord  wouldn't  prosper  this  voyage. 
I  did  n't  dare  ask  him  to,  and  I  'm  fearful  my  prayers 
have  n't  been  effectual  as  they  used  to  be." 

"  Why,  mother,  what 's  in  the  wind  now  ?  " 

"  Tush !  sleep  while  ye  are  innocent,  and  dream 
of  the  angels.  A  bad  world  is  this,  my  darling,  and 
ye  '11  learn  that  full  soon  enough." 

Bessie  slept  as  she  was  bidden,  but  her  mother 
lay  awake  with  torturing  thoughts  and  fears,  while 
the  wind  shrieked  around  the  windows,  dashing 
floods  of  water  upon  the  panes,  and  up  the  harbor 
came  all  night  the  fierce  complainings  of  the  angry 
sea.  It  was  past  midnight  before  the  good  woman 
was  at  rest ;  and  hence,  while  the  morning  sun  is 
up  and  the  storm  has  spent  its  rage,  and  the  waters 
of  the  harbor  are  empurpled  with  light,  Bessie  and 
her  mother  are  still  asleep,  while  their  neighbors  are 
astir. 

Knock,  —  knock,  —  somebody  is  at  the  door  trying 
to  shake  it  in  pieces. 

"  Are  ye  all  dead  inside ?  Molly!  Bess  Hawkins! 
are  ye  all  dead,  I  say?" 

Bess  was  the  first  to  spring  up  and  unbar  the 


THE    ADVENTURER.  139 

door,  and  she  was  on  the  point  of  rushing  into  her 
father's  arms  and  burying  her  fair  ruddy  cheeks  in 
his  great  matted  beard ;  but  she  stopped  short,  for  he 
held  a  sick  man  whose  head  was  hanging  uncon 
scious  over  his  shoulder.  Hawkins  shambled  in 
with  his  load,  laid  it  carefully  upon  the  floor,  put  a 
cushion  under  the  man's  head,  and  then  turning  to 
his  daughter,  and  catching  her  up  in  his  brawny 
arms,  — 

"  Why,  you  chuck,  you  bird,  you  little  flamingo, 
where  's  your  mammy,  and  what  'a  murrain  d'  ye 
keep  locked  in  like  a  jail  for  in  the  middle  of  the 
day  ?  You  gazelle,  you  bird  of  paradise,  you  little 
great  naughty  thing,  to  be  growing  up  into  this 
strapping  girl ! " 

Mrs.  Hawkins  by  this  time  was  in  the  room,  and 
was  soon  satisfied  that  it  was  her  real  husband  and 
not  his  ghost,  as  she  was  clinging  around  his  neck, 
which  had  been  turned  to  the  color  and  consistence 
of  leather. 

"  Why,  my  John,  how  came  you  here  in  this 
storm  ?  Is  the  vessel  wrecked,  and  is  this  the  only 
one  of  the  crew  that  is  saved  ?  Have  you  encoun 
tered  Spaniards  ?  " 

"  Spaniards !  Gorgons,  devils,  brimstone-eaters ! 
Nathless,  my  sweet  Molly,  the  good  Jesus  of  Lubec 
is  safe  in  the  harbor  of  Padstow  in  Cornwall,  full 
freighted  with  gold,  silver,  pearls,  and  jewels.  D'  ye 
think  Jack  Hawkins  would  come  into  the  Channel 
in  such  a  storm  as  this  ?  I  watched  it  coming  three 
days  agone,  put  into  the  harbor  of  Padstow,  and 
crossed  over  by  land." 


140  THE    ADVENTURER. 

Plymouth  Bay  divides  into  two  harbors,  the  east 
ern,  called  the  Catwater,  into  which  runs  the  river 
Plym;  the  western,  called  the  Hamoaze,  into  which 
runs  the  river  Tamar.  The  two  harbors  are  in  fact 
estuaries  of  those  streams.  They  are  about  three 
miles  apart,  the  space  between  being  a  rocky  prom 
ontory,  on  which  the  town  of  Plymouth  stands 
and  overlooks  the  bay.  Furnished  with  these  two 
excellent  harbors,  it  is,  after  Portsmouth,  a  seaport 
of  the  first  importance  in  the  naval  history  of  Eng 
land. 

It  was  nearly  a  year  before  the  scene  described 
above  that  Captain  Hawkins,  named  in  the  old  rec 
ords  with  the  addition  of  "  right  worshipful  and  val 
iant,"  sailed  out  of  the  Catwater  in  command  of  the 
famous  Jesus  of  Lubec,  "  a  ship  of  700  tunnes,  be 
longing  to  the  Queen,"  the  Salmon,  a  ship  of  140, 
the  Tiger,  a  bark  of  50,  and  the  Swallow,  of  30,  "be 
ing  all  well  furnished  with  men  to  the  number  of 
one  hundred  threescore  and  ten,  and  also  with  ordi 
nance  and  victuall  requisite  for  such  a  voyage."  It 
was  on  the  18th  day  of  October,  1564,  that  Madam 
Hawkins  saw  the  little  fleet  sail  out  of  the  bay, 
with  many  presentiments  of  evil;  and  it  was  on 
the  20th  of  September  of  the  following  year  that 
it  anchored  at  Padstow,  "  with  golde,  silver,  pearles, 
apd  other  jewels  great  store." 

Old  John  has  crossed  over  from  Padstow,  where 
he  left  his  vessels  in  port,  and,  in  the  midst  of  his 
loving  congratulations  with  Molly  and  Bess,  had 
well-nigh  forgotten  his  man,  until  the  man  half 
turned  upon  the  floor  and  fetched  a  groan. 


THE    ADVENTURER.  141 

"  Why,  John,  whom  have  you  brought  here  ?  That 
man  looks  dreadful  sick." 

"  He  's  worth  saving.  Too  good  meat  for  the 
sharks,  Molly.  You  must  cure  him." 

"  /  cure  him  ?  Why  did  n't  you  leave  him  aboard 
with  the  other  sick.  Do  you  expect  our  house  is  to 
be  a  hospital  for  the  fleet?  " 

"  I  tell  ye,  Molly,  that  something  more  than  ye 
ken  of  hangs  on  the  thread  of  that  man's  life.  If 
you  and  Bess  let  him  die,  you  'd  better  be  sunk  in 
the  sea." 

"  But  he  's  nearly  dead  now,  father.  Do  ye  think 
mother  can  work  miracles,  and  raise  a  man  out  of 
the  grave?  Look  !  poor  man,  his  eyes  are  set  now. 
We  can't  raise  the  dead,  father." 

"  Tut,  yes  you  can,"  pinching  both  her  cheeks. 
"  Did  n't  Molly  warm  into  life  Tom  Woorley  of  the 
Swallow,  after  he  had  been  frozen  stiff  and  stark 
and  lain  dead  three  days  ?  I  must  be  off  to  Lon 
don  with  my  freight,  and  if  when  I  return  this  man 
is  not  hale  and  strong,  the  Lord's  curse  will  be  upon 
your  house.  Mind  ye,  I  will  require  his  life  at  your 
hands." 

"  But  who  is  he  ?  " 

"  Adam's  great-grandchild  in  the  forty-millionth 
degree.  Don't  be  inquisitive  about  names,  chuck, 
in  these  perilous  times." 

Mrs.  Hawkins  by  this  time  was  bending  over  the 
sick  man.  He  had  evidently  been  sick  a  great 
while,  and  the  fever  had  passed  into  the  worst  form 
of  typhoid.  His  eyes  had  sunk  away  into  their 
sockets,  his  breath  and  pulse  were  nearly  gone,  and 


142  THE    ADVENTURER. 

sometimes  a  prolonged  moan  was  the  most  decisive 
indication  of  life.  She  got  ready  his  bed  in  a  spa 
cious  room  that  looked  southward  upon  the  sea, 
ordered  his  sailor's  dress  to  be  removed,  and  provid 
ed  a  warm  bath  and  fresh  linen,  so  that  before  an 
hour  had  elapsed  he  had  emerged  from  his  old  garb, 
impregnated  with  accumulated  fever,  and  was  lying 
in  comparative  comfort  between  clean  sheets,  and 
breathing  a  plentiful  supply  of  pure  air. 

Doctor  Pomp  comes  in.  He  is  a  large  man,  well 
rounded  in  front,  sixty  years  old,  wears  a  white 
cravat,  doubled  wide  and  starched  stiff.  He  is  a 
man  of  few  words,  but  of  very  significant  looks. 
He  stands  by  the  bedside,  his  chin  sunk  behind  his 
cravat,  his  under  lip  working  in  and  out,  while  his 
eye  surveys  the  patient  o'er  and  o'er.  He  deals  out 
his  powders,  leaves  his  orders,  and  takes  up  saddle 
bags  to  quit.  Mrs.  Hawkins  follows  him  out  of  the 
room. 

"  What  do  you  think  of  the  case,  Doctor  ?  " 

"  The  man  will  die,"  quoth  the  doctor,  projecting 
the  under  lip,  by  way  of  confirmation. 

An  awful  pause  ensued. 

"  That  is  to  say,  madam,  the  man  will  die  ac 
cording  to  the  laws  of  disease.  What  science  can 
do  in  rendering  the  case  exceptional  remains  to  be 
seen,"  —  and  he  walked  off,  with  his  chin  behind 
his  cravat. 

"  I  suppose  he  meant,  mother,  that,  if  the  man 
dies,  science  is  not  to  blame  for  it ;  but  if  he  gets 
well,  science  has  worked  a  great  miracle,  and  Doc 
tor  Pomp's  science  in  particular." 


THE    ADVENTURER.  143 

"  Doctor  Pomp  is  very  skilful,  my  dear,  and  we 
will  hope  for  the  best.  His  patients  very  often  re 
cover  after  being  desperately  and  mortally  sick,"  — 
and  Mrs.  Hawkins  looked  queer,  from  under  her 
eyebrows. 

John  Hawkins  comes  in,  takes  a  long  and  medi 
tative  look  at  the  wan  features,  waddles  out  of  the 
room  and  out  of  the  house,  like  a  dab-chick,  just  the 
same  as  if  the  house  and  the  solid  land  were  rock 
ing  in  a  trough  of  the  sea,  and  is  off  to  Padstow, 
and  thence  to  London. 

And  now  came  on  the  decisive  contest  between 
the  forces  of  life  and  death.  That  ugly  sister 
whom  they  call  Atropos  hovered  over  the  couch 
with  her  fatal  shears,  the  edge  keen  and  glistening 
for  the  occasion.  Then  Doctor  Pomp  would  come 
in  and  stick  out  his  under  lip,  and  Atropos  would 
flee  his  presence.  But  the  doctor  gone,  the  stealthy 
hag  was  sure  to  come  back,  trying  now  this  lane  of 
life,  now  that,  and  getting  the  slender  and  vital 
thread  between  her  scissors.  But  Mrs.  Hawkins 
and  Bess  were  both  on  the  watch  for  her,  and  ere 
she  could  give  the  final  clip,  they  would  dash  into 
her  face  one  of  Doctor  Pomp's  powders,  or  one 
of  their  own  cordials,  and  she  would  take  herself 
off  again,  perfectly  disgusted  with  apothecary  and 
aromatic  smells.  Meanwhile  the  poor  patient  was 
perfectly  unconscious  of  the  hand  to  hand  contest 
that  was  going  on  about  the  seat  of  life  within  him. 
He  had  sunk  into  an  iron  stupor  which  looked  very 
much  like  death. 

"  Is  it  all  over,  Doctor  Pomp  ?  " 


144 


THE    ADVENTURER. 


"  Flying  pulse,  madam,  flying  pulse,  cold  ex 
tremities.  Mind  the  symptoms  about  three  hours 
hence,  —  say  twelve  o'clock  to-night." 

Twelve  o'clock  came,  and  there  was  a  gentle 
heaving  of  the  chest,  and  a  gentle  warmth  in  the 
extremities,  and  something  that  resembled  sleep. 
Early  in  the  morning  Doctor  Pomp  was  standing 
in  the  door  surveying  the  field  of  operations. 

"  Science  has  done  the  business,  Mrs.  Hawkins," 
—  and  the  doctor  nods,  and  sinks  into  his  cravat. 

Mrs.  Hawkins  is  relieved  of  responsibility.  The 
thread  on  which  such  mysterious  consequences 
seem  to  hang  is  now  past  the  danger  of  being 
clipped.  They  have  time  to  speculate  Non  the  fea 
tures  of  the  stranger.  His  black  locks,  smoothed 
back  from  his  temples,  show  an  ample  forehead,  well 
browned  with  sun  and  sea-wind ;  his  beard  has 
been  carefully  removed,  and  though  the  cheeks  are 
fallen  quite  away,  the  curves  about  the  mouth  indi 
cate  natural  energy  not  without  refined  sensibility. 

"  A  comely  looking  youth  once,  I  trow.  Worth 
saving  without  doubt." 

"  Worth  saving,  mother,  if  only  for  good  Chris 
tian  burial.  It  makes  me  shudder  to  think  how 
they  throw  men  into  the  ocean.  Only  think ;  if 
that  man  had  n't  been  brought  hither,  he  would  have 
had  his  gra"ve  ere  now  in  those  great  sea-monsters. 
J  wonder  if  he  has  a  mother  ?  " 

"  I  must  lie  down  and  make  up  for  broken  rest, 
and  you,  Bess,  must  give  those  drops  once  an  hour." 

He  sleeps  on,  long  past  the  morning  hour,  sweet 
and  placid  sleep,  as  if  unseen  angels  had  driven 


THE    ADVENTURER.  145 

Atropos  clean  out  of  sight,  and  infused  healing  fra 
grance  from  their  hovering  wings.  At  length  he 
opens  his  eyes ;  clear  black  eyes  they  are,  and  look 
unnaturally  large  from  their  deep  sockets. .  On  the 
opposite  side  of  the  room  hung  sea-shells,  plumes 
of  tropical  birds,  stuffed  skins  of  strange  animals, 
golden  gewgaws.  And  on  the  side  of  the  room  at 
the  right  of  him,  a  pair  of  lustrous  eyes  were  watch 
ing  him.  Where  he  had  been  and  what  had  hap 
pened  to  him,  what  nightmare  dream  had  come 
over  him,  and  in  what  place  he  had  woke  out  of  it, 
or  whether  indeed  he  were  not  dreaming  still,  were 
matters  he  could  not  very  well  make  out. 

Bess  Hawkins  came  to  his  bedside  and  asked,  in 
a  whisper,  as  if  afraid  of  her  own  voice  in  the  sick 
room,  "  Is  there  anything  you  would  have,  sir  ?  " 

The  bewildered  man  did  not  know  what  he 
would  have,  and  if  he  did  know,  he  had  not 
strength  to  speak ;  and  so  he  could  only  gaze  silently 
into  the  fair  face  and  eyes  that  hung  over  his  pillow. 
She  guessed  how  it  was,  offered  the  drops  to  his 
lips,  which  he  swallowed  obediently,  wiped  away 
the  dew  which  had  gathered  over  his  forehead  dur 
ing  sleep,  and  bathed  it  softly  in  cordials,  and,  whis 
pering  in  his  ear,"  You  are  better,  sir,  —  you  will  be 
well," — trod  lightly  out  of  the  room  to  tell  the  good 
news  to  her  mother. 


CHAPTER    II. 


Ah,  curiousness,  first  cause  of  all  our  ill, 

And  yet  the  plague  that  most  torments  us  still !  " 

Doomes  Day. 


"  Is  this  Barbadoes,  madam  ?  "  was  the  first  faint 
essay  of  the  sick  man  in  the  way  of  speech,  as  he 
surveyed  a  stuffed  armadillo  upon  the  wall. 

"  Barbadoes,  man?  It  is  Old  England,  and  this  is 
the  house  of  Captain  John  Hawkins  of  Plymouth, 
and  I  am  Mrs.  Hawkins,  his  wife,  and  this  is  our 
daughter  Bess,  and  you  have  been  next  door  to  the 
grave,  sir,  and  partly  in  it,  and  are  just  coming  up 
out  of  it,  thanks  to  Doctor  Pomp's  powders." 

"  And  to  Mrs.  Hawkins  and  her  daughter  Bess, 
I  reckon.  But  where  's  Master  Jack,  and  where  's 
the  Jesus  of  Lubec  ?  " 

"  Gone  to  London,  stored  full  of  gold,  silver,  and 
pearls,  which  I  suppose  you  helped  in  getting." 

But  the  man  was  too  weak  as  yet  to  answer  ques 
tions.  Nevertheless,  he  grew  stronger,  his  wan 
features  began  to  fill  out  and  lose  their  sallow- 
ness,  and  he  would  sit  up  on  his  couch,  propped 
with  pillows,  and  look  out  through  his  window 
upon  the  tumbling  waves.  At  length  he  got  to  the 


THE    ADVENTURER.  147 

contents  of  his  chest,  which  Captain  Hawkins  had 
pitched  into  one  corner  of  the  room  ;  and  one  af 
ternoon  he  ventured  from  his  sick-bed,  and  came 
walking  out  into  the  parlor  in  a  long  damask  dress 
ing-gown,  looming  up  before  Mrs.  Hawkins  and 
Bessie  as  a  tall  and  comely  young  man  of  cosmo 
politan  manners. 

"  As  I  live!  why,  the  man  is  crazy  to  venture  out 
so  soon.  Get  the  arm-chair,  Bess,  and  a  cushion, 
and  that  bottle  of  spice-waters,  before  he  faints 
clean  away  " ;  —  and  the  good  woman  took  hold  of 
him  and  deposited  him  carefully  in  the  chair,  while 
Bess  smoothed  the  pillow  with  her  pretty  white 
hand,  and  bathed  his  temples  with  the  spice-waters. 

"Don't  be  troubled,  my  good  woman.  I  have  lain 
and  looked  so  long  at  those  stuffed  pelicans  and 
armadillos,  that  I  have  fairly  looked  them  out  of 
countenance,  and  I  thought  the  sight  of  your  sweet 
and  loving  faces  would  be  an  agreeable  change." 

And  now  Mrs.  Hawkins's  turn  had  come.  She 
surveyed  the  handsome  stranger  o'er  and  o'er,  his 
features  and  manners  spiritualized  by  the  refining 
touch  of  sickness.  Had  he  not  developed  into  this 
comely  manhood,  under  her  own  nursing  hand, 
from  a  mere  death-skeleton?  and  why  should  she 
not  be  as  proud  of  her  work  as  an  artist,  when  he 
brings  an  Apollo  out  of  the  marble  ?  And  had  she 
not  a  right  to  know  something  of  the  stranger,  — 
who  he  is,  and  where  he  came  from,  and  how  he  got 
sick,  and  what  sort  of  a  voyage  they  have  had?  — 
matters  on  which  her  husband  maintained  a  most 
mysterious,  and  therefore  a  most  provoking,  silence. 


148 


THE    ADVENTURER. 


Was  the  gratification  of  her  woman's  curiosity 
more  than  a  just  compensation  for  her  kindly 
watching  and  care  ? 

"  You  have  friends,  sir,  I  trust." 

"  Very  many,  madam.  Indeed,  the  human  race 
are  my  friends." 

"  You  are  not  an  Englishman,  I  judge." 

The  stranger  bowed  courteously. 

"  You  have  a  father  and  mother,  and  brothers 
and  sisters,  perhaps." 

"  I  have  certainly  a  mother  and  sister,"  said  the 
stranger,  bending  his  eye  alternately  upon  Mrs. 
Hawkins  and  Bessie,  till  a  tear  started  out  of  it, 
and  rolled  down  his  pale  face. 

"  I  suppose  you  were  one  of  Captain  Hawkins's 
men,  in  his  late  voyage." 

The  stranger  bowed  again. 

"  And  you  can  tell  us  something  about  it.  You 
had  a  hard  voyage,  I  reckon.  Fell  in  with  Spaniards 
and  pirates,  perhaps." 

A  shade  came  over  the  stranger's  countenance. 
But  he  replied  after  a  pause,  and  an  evident  effort 
to  choke  down  his  feelings.  "  Alas,  my  dear  good 
woman !  the  voyage  lies  in  my  memory  like  an  ugly 
dream,  and  a  great  part  of  it  is  a  blank  to  me.  Pi 
rates  and  Spaniards!  —  yes,  I  have  fought  them  for 
the  last  three  months,  as  they  trooped  through  my 
poor,  hot  brain,  and  I  verily  believe  that  nobody  but 
you  and  your  daughter  could  have  driven  them  away 
from  me." 

"  Now,  mother,  don't  vex  the  gentleman  with  ques 
tions,  and  make  him  talk  himself  sick  again,"  said 


THE    ADVENTURER.  149 

Bessie,  with  a  quick  perception  that  he  was  putting 
forth  considerable  intellectual  effort  to  preserve  both 
his  courtesy  and  reserve. 

Two  or  three  days  after,  as  he  looked  out  at  the 
window,  and  saw  the  waves  coming  up  into  Plym 
outh  Bay,  line  after  line,  rank  beyond  rank,  like  an 
endless  army,  and  where  they  crossed  the  sun's  an 
gle  of  reflection  flashing  like  cohorts  clad  in  steel, 
he  was  seized  with  an  irrepressible  longing  to  get 
out  of  prison,  and  bound  like  a  sea-bird  over  the 
waters.  There  is  no  sense  of  life  so  intense  and 
exquisite  as  in  that  exuberant  flood-tide  that  comes 
from  returning  health. 

"  If  you  will  steady  me  over  the  threshold,  I  will 
get  out  doors  and  drink  a  little  of  this  sea-breeze 
that  comes  up  the  bay."  And  Bessie  led  the  inva 
lid  into  the  sun,  and  along  the  brow  of  the  hill  that 
overlooks  the  Catwater.  Looking  away  to  the 
southeast,  his  eye  traced  a  richly  cultivated  border 
lying  along  the  bay  under  the  dreamy  haze  of  a 
September  sun,  orchards  bending  with  fruit,  fields 
yet  green  over  which  the  bullocks  were  grazing,  and 
plenteous  shocks  of  golden  grain. 

«  What  country  is  that  ?" 

"  That,  sir,  is  in  Devon.  That  region  is  called 
the  '  South  Yams,'  or  sometimes  the  '  gardens  of 
Devonshire.'  They  say  it  is  one  of  the  finest  tracts 
in  Old  England." 

"'Tis  a  sweet  country,  Miss  Bessie;  but  you 
should  see  the  tropics,  where  the  tall  forests  are  al 
ways  green,  and  it  is  spring  the  year  round,  and 
grapes  hang  from  the  trees,  and  birds  with  crimson 

13* 


150  THE    ADVENTURER. 

feathers  flit  through  the  branches,  and  among  the 
wild  fruits  that  hang  over  your  head  like  great  gold- 
«en  drops  ;  and  the  air  is  so  sweet  with  a  thousand 
perfumes,  that  breathing  is  a  luxury,  and  you  lie 
down  on  a  pillow  of  spices,  and  make  your  coverlet 
of  roses.  Those  are  the  gardens,  Miss  Bessie."  And 
the  stranger  went  on  with  his  discourse,  while  the 
girl's  eyes  grew  bigger  and  bigger  with  admiration 
and  wonder. 

With  the  luxurious  and  bracing  sea-breeze,  and 
the  joy  of  new  existence  bounding  through  all  his 
veins,  an  hour  with  the  stranger  had  sped  rapidly 
away,  and  quite  as  rapidly  with  Bessie,  hearing  the 
glowing  description  of  wonderful  lands. 

"  Are  ye  crazed,  both  of  you  ?  "  said  Mrs.  Haw 
kins,  who  came  looking  after  them.  "  Are  ye  mad, 
ye  silly  girl  ?  and  is  this  the  way  ye  take  care  of  a 
sick  man,  —  keeping  him  out  here  till  nightfall,  and 
bringing  the  fever  back  again  ?  "  And  she  led  him 
in  and  laid  him  upon  the  bed,  as  if  he  were  a  little 
child. 

"  Trust  ye  with  an  invalid  again,  I  reckon!"  said 
Mrs.  Hawkins,  coming  back  into  the  parlor. 

"  Forgive  me,  mother,"  said  the  innocent  girl, 
"but  you  don't  know  what  wonderful  things  the 
man  has  seen.  I  forgot  we  had  been  out  so  long : 
I  would  n't  get  him  sick  for  the  world " ;  and  her 
lip  quivered  with  wounded  sensibility. 

"  I  know  you  forgot,  chubby ;  girls  are  apt  to, 
sometimes.  You  need  n't  take  care  of  the  stranger. 
I  '11  mind  him  and  look  after  him.  Did  he  tell  you 
anything  about  the  voyage  ?  " 


THE    ADVENTURER.  151 

"  He  told  of  a  paradise  away  in  the  tropics,  a 
great  deal  more  beautiful  than  the  Devonshire  gar 
dens." 

"  Meseems  he  's  grown  mighty  communicative  all 
at  once,"  —  and  Mrs.  Hawkins  looked  wise,  while  a 
blush  found  its  way  into  Bessie's  cheek.  "  Not  a 
word  could  /get  out  of  him,  save  bows  and  com 
pliments." 

"  Now,  mother !  He  '11  tell  you  when  he  is  strong 
enough,  and  we  '11  ask  him  about  the  Enchanted 
Islands,  and  the  fire-birds  that  make  it  light  all  night 
long  with  their  flashing  wings ;  for  that  was  what 
he  was  telling  me  of  when  you  broke  off  his  dis 
course." 

Not  at  all  damaged  by  the  airing  he  had  taken, 
the  stranger  walked  into  the  parlor  the  next  day 
with  a  yet  firmer  tread,  and  a  more  glowing  and 
healthful  color  upon  his  cheeks,  and  was  cordially 
welcomed  to  the  easy-chair.  Mrs.  Hawkins  began 
again  on  another  tack,  her  curiosity  by  no  means 
allayed  touching  the  mysterious  invalid.  He  felt  it 
was  almost  cruel  to  keep  up  a  reserve  about  him 
self  with  people  whose  hearts  had  warmed  towards 
him  with  so  much  kindness,  and  without  which  he 
might  now  have  been  sleeping  at  the  bottom  of  the 
sea. 

"  My  dear  good  woman,  you  have  saved  me  from 
death,  and  you  have  a  right  to  know  something  of 
the  life  you  have  preserved.  I  don't  know  how 
much  Captain  Hawkins  wants  his  affairs  bruited  in 
England.  There  is  nothing  that  I  want  concealed 
on  my  own  account.  But  I  must  tell  of  strange 


152  THE  ADVENTURER. 

adventures,  —  such,  I  think,  as  were  never  heard  of 
in  this  country,  and  I  must  make  you  promise  that 
you  will  not  divulge  my  story,  without  Captain 
Hawkins's  leave." 

With  this  condition  he  plunged  into  his  story, 
and  found  ready  arid  open  ears. 


CHAPTER    III. 


"  Tore  God,  your  looks  trouble  me ;  for  your  eyes  have  a  most 
particular  appearance." 

"  Gramercy,  I  was  musing  the  story." 


"  MY  connection  with  Captain  Hawkins  com 
menced  years  agone,  while  he  was  carrying  on  a 
prosperous  trade  with  the  Canaries.  I  was  a  father 
less  boy,  and  I  used  to  sit  on  the  wharves  of  Am 
sterdam  looking  at  the  ships  as  they  cast  off  and 
sailed  away,  till  they  disappeared  as  a  speck  upon 
the  ocean.  One  day  I  saw  an  English  captain  with 
a  broad  and  open  countenance,  and  I  asked  him  to 
take  me  into  his  service.  He  consented,  and  my 
first  voyage  was  on  board  the  Pelican  while  she  was 
engaged  in  the  African  trade,  and  the  frank-hearted 
captain  proved  to  be  the  renowned  commander, 
Hawkins.  Never  within  my  memory  had  I  been 
outside  the  bastions  of  Amsterdam ;  and  so  you  may 
conceive  of  the  transport  which  I  experienced  as  we 
sailed  into  the  tropic  seas.  The  air  was  so  trans 
parent  that  all  objects  seen  through  it  seemed  to 
stand  out  as  if  coming  to  meet  you,  and  the  sea 
was  a  broad  and  living  sapphire,  into  which  you 


154  THE  ADVENTURER. 

could  look  fathoms  down,  and  inspect  the  wondrous 
life  of  the  great  deep.  How  many  hours  have  I 
lain  at  the  forecastle,  and  looked  down  to  watch 
the  streaks  of  fire  as  they  would  shoot  away  out  of 
sight,  made  by  the  fishes  in  their  gambols,  every 
motion  of  which  seemed  to  light  up  a  phosphores 
cent  train.  Well,  we  came  to  the  island  of  Madei 
ra,  and  put  in  at  the  harbor  of  Funchal  for  a  cargo 
of  wines.  The  island  rises  suddenly  out  of  the  sea, 
lifted  up  on  perpendicular  columns  of  basaltic  rock, 
and  sharp  isolated  peaks  pierce  the  sky  like  needles. 
As  you  sail  towards  them,  you  would  not  guess 
from  the  craggy  appearance  what  a  paradise  was 
embosomed  among  them.  But  they  are  terraced 
far  up  towards  their  summits,  and  you  wind  around 
through  a  succession  of  gardens  and  vineyards,  the 
sea  view  expanding  upon  you  meanwhile.  We  be 
gan  to  ascend  one  of  these  peaks  from  Funchal ; 
we  passed  the  green  bananas  with  their  beautiful 
feathery  tops,  the  orange-trees  hanging  out  to  us 
their  golden  fruit,  plantations  of  coffee-trees,  the 
splendid  coral-tree,  the  tulip-tree,  with  its  snowy 
bells  mingled  with  the  scarlet  hibiscus.  There  were 
sidewalks  over  which  wide-spreading  plane-trees 
and  willows  of  gigantic  growth  were  bending  their 
slender  arms,  and  beneath  whose  shade  streams 
murmured  down  the  hill.  We  came  to  the  vine 
yards,  where  the  vines  were  carried  on  trellises  over 
the  road,  and  great  bunches  of  grapes  hung  within 
our  reach.  Hedges  of  geraniums,  fuchsias,  and  he 
liotropes  bordered  the  narrow  paths  and  shaded  us 
from  the  sun.  Higher  up  grew  the  yam,  prickly- 


THE    ADVENTURER.  155 

pear,  dragon-tree,  and  cedar,  —  the  aloe,  agave,  and 
sweet  potatoe,  —  and  heaths  and  pines  crowned  the 
summit.  We  passed  groups  of  natives,  in  compa 
nies  of  eight  or  ten,  sitting  under  palms  and  eating 
their  morning  meal,  and  we  met  others  on  their 
way  to  the  town  with  fowls,  bunches  of  yellow 
bananas,  and  strings  of  crimson  pomegranates. 
What  was  very  remarkable,  those  of  our  crew 
who  had  been  sick,  and  one  man  who  said  he  had 
coughed  up  his  lungs,  seemed  to  breathe  in  health 
at  every  step,  and  breathe  it  with  the  whole  frame. 

"  We  left  Madeira  and  went  to  the  Canaries  to 
complete  our  cargo,  taking  in  large  store  of  wines 
and  tropical  fruits,  and  though  I  did  not  think  that 
these  islands  were  quite  to  be  compared  with  Ma 
deira,  yet  they  did  charm  us  with  their  fertility  and 
climate,  for  they  seemed  to  have  a  golden  summer 
at  whatever  season  of  the  year.  You  will  not  be 
surprised,  I  think,  that  I  enlisted  in  Captain  Haw 
kins's  service  ;  for  next  to  living  in  those  sunny  isl 
ands,  it  seemed  to  me  a  most  blessed  thing  to  sail 
thither  every  year.  I  got  the  confidence  of  my 
commander,  he  trusted  me  largely  in  his  affairs, 
and  finally  he  let  me  share  liberally  in  his  gains." 

"  Mercy,  yes  !  you  're  Nimble  Johnny  I  have  heard 
him  tell  so  much  of!  " 

'  "  I  used  to  bear  that  title,  madam,  and  I  liked 
his  service  so  well  that  I  enlisted  in  it  for  six  years. 
And  now  I  must  tell  you  of  our  last  voyage.  The 
Jesus,  with  three  other  ships,  sailed  out  of  Plymouth 
Bay,  as  you  know,  doubtless,  nearly  a  year  agone, 
and  we  bore  straight  for  the  Canaries,  and  touched 


156  THE    ADVENTURER. 

at  Teneriffe.  The  '  Pike,'  as  they  call  the  principal 
peak,  lifted  its  head  into  the  clouds,  white  with  its 
crown  of  snow,  and  down  to  its  base  we  could 
trace  the  climate  and  the  vegetation  of  all  the 
zones.  They  told  us  there  of  the  wonderful  Rain- 
Tree,  which  we  afterwards  found  in  Africa.  You 
must  know  that  it  seldom  rains  in  these  islands 
from  the  sky,  but  the  dews  fall  plentifully,  and 
there  is  one  tree  that  rains  and  supplies  the  ground 
with  moisture." 

"  A  tree  that  rains !  "  said  Bessie,  who  had  been 
filling  up  with  wonderment  till  she  could  not  con 
tain  it. 

"  A  tree  that  rains,  Miss  Hawkins,  and  supplies 
the  land  with  showers." 

"  Does  the  tree  thunder  too  ?  " 

"  Not  that  we  heard  of.  It  sends  its  roots  so 
deep  among  the  springs,  and  sucks  up  so  much 
water,  that  it  trickles  adown  from  the  leaves,  and 
men  and  cattle  come  and  drink  of  it.  A  marvel 
lous  thing,  Bessie,  —  that  is,  Miss  Hawkins,  —  a 
kind  of  vegetable  well,  that  draws  water  of  it 
self."  * 


*  "  In  one  of  these  islands,  called  Fierro,  there  is,  by  the  reports  of 
the  inhabitants,  a  certaine  tree  that  raineth  continually,  by  the  drop 
ping  whereof  the  inhabitants  and  cattell  are  satisfied  with  water,  for 
other  water  have  they  none  in  all  the  Hand.  And  it  raineth  in  such 
abundance,  that  it  were  incredible  unto  a  man  to  beleeve  such  a  vertuc 
to  bee  in  a  tree,  but  it  is  knowen  to  bee  a  divine  matter,  and  a  thing 
ordained  by  God,  at  whose  power  therein  wee  ought  not  to  marvel, 
seeing  he  did  by  his  Providence,  as  we  read  in  the  Scriptures,  when 
the  children  of  Israel  were  going  into  the  land  of  promise,  fcede  them 
with  Manna  from  heaven  for  the  space  of  forty  years.  Of  the  trees 


THE  ADVENTURER.  157 

"  The  mercy  !  I  '11  get  Captain  Hawkins  to  plant 
one  in  our  garden." 

"  But  we  did  not  take  in  any  cargo  at  the  Cana 
ries.  We  kept  sailing  southward,  and  I  began  to 
wonder  whither  we  were  bound.  There  was  one  of 
our  crew  whose  name  was  Mark,  a  rough,  swear 
ing,  and  drinking  Dutchman,  and  I  saw  he  knew 
more  about  it  than  I  did.  I  suspected  some  iniqui 
ty  ahead,  for  Captain  Hawkins  grew  mighty  par 
ticular  about  the  daily  prayers,  which  before  had 
been  rather  irregular.  Now  we  were  summoned 
together  every  morning,  and  the  prayers  were 
droned  out  with  redoubled  awfulness.  Mark  this 
fact,  Mrs.  Hawkins,  —  when  people  contemplate 
some  strange  and  unheard-of  deviltry,  they  often 
take  to  praying  with  new  vehemence  and  solemni 
ty.  I  got  into  Mark's  confidence.  '  Where  now  ? ' 
said  I.  4  Are  we  going  to  girdle  the  globe  in  the 
track  of  Captain  Drake  ? '  '  Nay,'  said  he,  with  a 
big  oath,  'we  are  going  to  convert  the  heathen.' 
I  saw  the  whole  of  it.  We  were  going  to  the 
Guinea  coast  to  take  in  a  cargo  of  negroes. 

" '  This  is  not  the  business  I  enlisted  for,  Mark,' 
said  I.  '  No  matter  for  that,'  he  replied  ;  '  you  are 
fairly  in  for  it  now,  and  you  see  the  only  way  of 
getting  out  of  it  is  by  swinging  at  the  yard-arm.' 
Well,  we  sailed  along  through  those  beautiful 
sapphire  seas,  and  passed  some  small  islands  that 

aforesaid  we  saw  in  Guinic  many,  being  of  a  great  height,  dropping 
continually,  but  not  so  abundantly  as  the  other,  because  the  leaves  are 
narrower  and  are  like  the  leaves  of  a  peare  tree."  —  Narrative  of 
Hawkins's  Voyages  in  Haklnyt,  Vol.  III.  p.  59G. 
14 


158  THE    ADVENTURER. 

lie  off  from  the  mouth  of  the  Rio  Grande  and  the 
coasts  of  Sierra  Leone.  We  anchored  by  a  small 
island  called  Alcatarsa,  and  there  we  encountered 
a  new  marvel.  We  did  not  find  any  negroes,  for 
the  island  was  not  inhabited,  but  birds  of  beautiful 
plumage  came  in  flocks  around  us,  and  piped  their 
songs.  As  they  curved  around  our  heads,  almost 
alighting  upon  us,  inviting  us  to  reach  out  and  take 
them,  I  could  not  help  thinking  of  the  awful  curse 
and  wickedness  that  have  put  civilized  man  and 
these  innocent  creatures  at  enmity.  And  yet  we 
killed  them  by  wholesale,  and  loaded  our  boats 
with  them,  though  it  did  seem  to  me  a  betrayal  of 
the  confidence  put  in  us  by  these  innocent  birds.* 
There  was  another  island  not  far  off,  La  Formio, 
inhabited  by  a  people  called  Sapies,  and  two  of 
our  barks  with  their  boats  went  thither  in  quest 
of  human  plunder.  Eighty  of  our  men  landed 
there ;  but  the  natives  fled  before  them  to  the 
woods,  shooting  terribly  in  their  retreat  with  their 
bows  and  arrows.  Our  men  shot  at  the  natives 
with  arquebuses,  and  it  was  curious  to  see,  when 
one  of  them  was  wounded,  how  he  would  look 
upon  his  wound  and  wonder  how  it  came,  as  he 
could  not  see  the  missile  that  caused  it.  We  took 
no  captives  at  this  place.  But  a  few  days  after, 
the  Jesus  came  and  anchored  at  one  of  the  islands 
called  Sambula,  abounding  in  tropical  fruits  and 
cultivated  fields  and  inhabited  towns." 

*  "  The  birds  called  by  the  Portugals  Alcatarses,  who  for  that 
cause  gave  name  to  the  island,  not  being  used  to  the  sight  of  men,  flew 
so  about  us  that  we  stroke  them  down  with  poles."  —  Hakluyt,  Vol. 
III.  p.  597. 


THE  ADVENTURER.          ^    159 

"  Towns !  Do  the  negroes  have  towns  ?  I  thought 
they  were  all  savages,  and  lived  out  doors  or  in 
caves." 

"  These  people  lived  in  towns,  Miss  Hawkins, 
and  I  have  often  thought  of  this  little  island  as  a 
gem  in  the  ocean.  Their  towns  were  built  in  the 
form  of  a  cross,  two  principal  streets  intersecting 
each  other,-  on  which  their  houses  stand  in  long 
and  regular  rows.  They  are  made  round  like  a 
dove-cot  by  stakes  covered  with  palmetto-leaves, 
and  over  the  roof  thereof,  for  the  better  garnishing 
of  the  same,  there  is  a  round  bundle  of  reed,  prettily 
contrived,  like  a  lover's  knot.  Inside  they  have  a 
loft  stored  with  provisions,  and  pretty  apartments 
divided  off  by  the  rind  of  the  palmetto-tree.  In  the 
centre  of  the  town,  or  at  the  intersection  of  the 
cross,  there  is  a  larger  house,  called  the  '  Consulta 
tion-house,'  where  the  governor  and  elders  dispense 
justice.  Around  these  towns  were  cultivated  fields 
and  gardens ;  fields  of  mill,  rice,  roots,  pompions, 
and  date-trees ;  goats  feeding  in  flocks ;  palmetto- 
trees  tapped  and  dropping  their  juices  into  gourd- 
shells,  from  which  came  rich  and  delicious  wines." 

"  But  the  people  were  all  heathens,  I  suppose." 

"  The  natives  of  the  island  were  called  Sapies ; 
they  were  a  mild,  peaceable,  industrious  people, 
belonging  to  the  negro  race  ;  heathens,  I  suppose, 
but  not  half  so  bad  heathens  as  you  find  here  in 
England.  They  never  roasted  people  alive  for  their 
opinions  that  I  know  of." 

"  But  they  eat  each  other,"  said  Bessie. 

"  Troth,  I  'd  rather  be  eaten  than  roasted.     But 


160  THE    ADVENTURER. 

no,  Miss  Hawkins ;  these  Sapies  are  not  man-eaters, 
but  live  on  fruits  and  cattle,  whereof  they  have  great 
abundance." 

"  Have  they  got  any  religion  ?  "  said  Mrs.  Haw 
kins. 

"  Yes,  madam,  and  a  very  curious  religion  it  is. 
In  their  dreams  they  see  various  personages  whom 
they  take  to  be  gods.  So  they  paint,  as  well  as 
they  can,  the  imagery  of  their  dreams,  as  setting 
forth  the  things  of  the  invisible  world." 

"  How  strange ! " 

"  Not  so  very  strange,  Miss  Bessie,  for  that  is 
precisely  what  they  do  here  in  Old  England.  Ev 
ery  man  worships  the  god  of  his  own  imagination, 
and  I  infer  that  the  Sapies  dream  out  better  gods 
than  they  do  here  in  England,  because  their  prac 
tices  are  a  great  deal  more  just  and  peaceable." 

"  Why  the  mercy !  Do  you  think  us  worse  than 
the  Africans  ?  "  said  Mrs.  Hawkins. 

"  I  beg  pardon,  madam.  If  a  Sapian  were  to 
witness  the  scenes  of  Tower  Hill  or  Smithfield 
Square,  I  fancy  he  would  be  shocked  at  English 
barbarism,  and  perhaps  would  like  to  send  over  a 
few  missionaries  to  convert  you  to  his  milder  faith  ; 
for,  on  my  soul,  he  dreams  out  a  more  merciful  re 
ligion  when  asleep  than  your  bishops  and  priests 
do  when  wide  awake.  At  least,  I  judge  so  by  its 
fruits.  However,  these  Sapies  were  not  the  only 
people  of  the  island.  About  three  years  before  our 
visit  there,  a  people  called  Samboses,  from  beyond 
Sierra  Leone,  had  invaded  the  island,  and  made 
slaves  of  the  Sapies." 


THE    ADVENTURER.  161 

"  How  cruel  those  Samboses  must  be,  to  make 
war  on  such  inoffensive  people ! "  said  Bessie. 

"  Yes,  Miss  Hawkins,  they  must  have  got  a  little 
Christianized,"  said  the  stranger,  with  a  peculiar 
curl  of  the  lip.  "  However,  that  is  the  way  they 
build  up  society  in  this  world.  These  Samboses 
were  warlike,  lazy  man-eaters,  so  they  conquered 
the  peaceable  Sapies  and  made  slaves  of  them." 

"  Is  that  what  you.  call  building  up  society?" 

"  Why  yes,  Bessie,  —  Miss  Hawkins,  I  mean,  — 
precisely  the  way  English  society  was  built  up,  tier 
above  tier.  First  were  the  native  Britons.  Then 
came  the  Saxons  and  piled  themselves  top  of  them. 
Then  came  the  Normans  and  piled  themselves  top 
of  the  Saxons  ;  and  by  this  time  you  may  well  con 
ceive  the  pile  grew  rather  heavy  for  the  poor  devils 
that  were  undermost.  That  is  the  way,  Miss 
Hawkins.  And  as  I  was  saying,  these  Samboses, 
having  got  a  little  touch  of  our  Christianity,  which, 
perhaps,  they  learned  of  the  Portugals,  at  Sierra 
Leone,  came  and  piled  themselves  upon  the  Sapies." 

"  Those  Samboses  must  be  a  dreadful,  horrible 
people,"  said  Mrs.  Hawkins. 

"  Quite  horrible,"  said  the  stranger.  "  However," 
(his  lip  curling,)  "  they  had  n't  got  thoroughly  Chris 
tianized  like  your  English  bishops.  They  only 
cook  men  after  they  are  dead.  Here  in  England, 
men  are  cooked  while  alive." 

"  Why  the  mercy!"  said  Mrs.  Hawkins. 

"  Not  much  mercy  in  either  case.  However, 
there  came  along  to  this  same  island  another  peo 
ple,  yet  more  powerful  than  the  Samboses." 


162  THE    ADVENTURER. 

"  And  I  suppose  they  formed  what  you  call  the 
topmost  tier  of  society.  How  did  they  treat  the 
Samboses  ?  "  interposed  Bessie. 

"  I  will  tell  you,  Bessie,  how  they  treated  both  the 
Samboses  and  the  Sapies.  I  have  described  to  you 
their  towns  and  villages,  lying  in  the  shape  of  a 
cross,  here  and  there  about  the  island,  surrounded 
by  palmetto-groves  and  luxuriant  and  cultivated 
fields.  Well,  this  third  set  of  invaders  landed  upon 
the  island,  stole  slyly  by  night  through  the  date- 
trees  and  palmetto-groves,  deployed  round  the  vil 
lage,  on  which  the  moonlight  lay  in  a  broad  sheet 
of  gleaming  silver,  revealing  the  whole  town  in  its 
soft  and  silent  glare.  Why,  Bessie,  the  moonlight 
of  the  tropics  is  almost  equal  to  the  sunlight  of 
England!  These  invaders,  having  lurked  all  about 
the  town,  would  set  fire  to  it  in  several  places  at 
once;  and  then  what  furrows  of  flame  would 
plough  in  all  directions  through  the  palmetto-leaves 
and  thatched  roofs,  till  the  whole  town  was  in 
volved  in  smoke  and  blaze !  And  then  what  shrieks 
of  women  and  children  just  waking  from  sleep! 
Men  and  women  rush  frantic,  emerging  in  all  direc 
tions  from  the  involving  ruin,  and  fall  bewildered 
into  the  hands  of  the  invaders,  who,  in  the  tropic 
moonlight,  make  sure  of  their  prey.  The  palmetto- 
leaved  village  becomes  a  blackened  waste,  and  such 
of  the  naked  inmates  as  have  not  perished  in  the 
fray  are  carried  off  captive." 

"  O  horrible,  to  think  such  things  are  done ! "  said 
Mrs.  Hawkins,  her  mouth  and  eyes  both  open  with 
wonder.  "  And  what  were  these  last  dreadful  sav 
ages  called  ?  " 


THE  ADVENTURER.  163 

"  Captain  John  Hawkins  and  his  crew,"  said  the 
stranger,*  emphasizing  each  particular  syllable. 

This  was  rather  too  much  for  the  good  woman. 
She  turned  pale  as  marble,  her  gaze  bent  on  the 
narrator,  compelled  now  to.  hear  the  dreadful  tale 
she  had  evoked. 

"  But  do  you  think,"  said  Bessie,  her  eyes  brim 
ming  over,  "  that  those  poor  creatures  mind  such 
things  as  we  should  ?  " 

"  I  will  tell  you  how  they  minded  them.  Three 
hundred  of  the  poor  wretches  had  been  stowed  on 
board  the  fleet,  and  we  had  already  weighed  anchor, 
and  put  out  to  sea.  Presently  a  Sapian  girl  came 
skimming  the  waves  like  a  swan,  clear  up  to  the 
ship,  looking  into  our  faces  with  imploring  agony. 
They  took  her  on  board,  and  before  she  could  be 
chained,  she  bounded  like  a  fawn  to  her  mother's 
breast.  Her  mother  was  bleeding  with  a  wound 
from  an  arquebuse,  of  which  she  died  afterwards, 
but  the  child  clung  frantic  to  the  warm  corpse,  till 
it  was  torn  from  her,  and  plunged  into  the  waves. 
She  slipped  through  the  hands  of  the  man,  and 
plunged  after  with  a  wild  shriek,  and  the  merciful 
sea  closed  over  them  both  together  " 

"  But  why  did  n't  you  raise  a  mutiny,  and  stop 
this?" 

"  Tush !  It  is  n't  so  pretty  a  business  to  raise 
mutinies,  Miss  Bessie.  And  there  was  one  quite 
cogent  reason  why  I  could  not.  I  got  poisoned 

*  The  cool  complacency  with  which  these  exploits  arc  narrated,  by 
one  of  Hawkins's  men,  and  by  Hawkins  himself,  is  marvellous.  See 
Hakluyt,  Vol.  III.  pp.  598,  619. 


164  THE    ADVENTURER. 

from  one  of  the  arrows  of  the  Samboses,  and  was 
lying  helpless  on  board  the  Jesus.  They  have  a 
venomous  cucumber,  in  the  juice  of  which  they  dip 
the  heads  of  their  arrows,  so  that  a  wound  from 
them  is  generally  fatal.  t  I  was  glad  of  my  wound, 
for  I  would  not  for  the  world  have  aided  in  the 
capture  of  those  innocent  and  simple-minded  Sapies. 
I  expected  to  die,  and  hardly  know  why  I  did  not, 
for  the  blood  in  all  my  veins  seemed  to  turn  into 
fire,  till  it  ended  in  delirium ;  and  then  I  know  not 
how  long  I  was  fighting  with  Spaniards  in  my 
dreams,  or  running  and  shrieking  through  burning 
villages.  We  sailed  to  the  West  Indies,  where 
Captain  Hawkins  sought  a  market  for  his  human 
cargo."  * 

"  His  money  will  never  enrich  him,  got  in  this 
way,"  said  Mrs.  Hawkins.  "  I  have  fasted  and 
prayed  over  this  voyage,  for  I  suspected  what  he 
went  out  for,  and  I  had  a  presentiment  of  some 
dreadful  calamity." 

*  "The  29th  of  this  same  month  (January  of  1565)  WQ  departed 
with  all  our  shippes  from  Sierra  Leone,  towards  the  West  Indies,  and 
for  the  space  of  eighteene  dayes  we  were  becalmed,  having  nowe  and 
then  contrary  windes,  and  some  Ternadoes  amongst  the  same  calme, 
which  happened  to  us  very  ill,  beeing  but  reasonably  watered  for  so 
great  a  company  of  negroes  and  ourselves,  which  pinched  us  all,  and 
that  which  was  worst,  put  us  in  such  feare,  that  many  never  thought 
to  have  reached  the  Indies  without  great  death  of  negroes  and  of 
themselves.  But  the  Almightie  God,  who  never  siiffereth  his  elect  to 
perish,  sent  us  the  16th  of  Februarie  the  ordinary  Brise,  which  is  the 
northwest  winde,  which  never  left  us  till  we  came  to  an  island  of  the 
Canybals,  called  Dominica."  Such  is  the  account  of  "  John  Sparke 
the  younger,  who  went  upon  the  same  voyage,  and  wrote  the  same." 
His  application  of  the  doctrine  of  election  is  unique.  See  Hakluyt, 
Vol.  III.  p.  601. 


THE    ADVENTURER.  165 

"  Well,  madam,  his  way  of  finding  a  market  for 
his  goods  was  quite  as  peculiar  as  his  mode  of  get 
ting  them.  We  anchored  before  a  Spanish  town 
called  Burboroata,  where  the  Captain  offered  his 
negroes  for  sale.  The  Spaniards  would  not  come 
to  his  terms.  So  he  landed  one  hundred  men,  well 
armed  with  bows,  arrows,  arquebuses,  and  pikes, 
with  which  he  marched  towards  the  town ;  and  this 
had  a  sudden  influence  on  the  state  of  the  market." 

"  Did  he  bum  out  the  Spaniards  too  ? "  asked 
Mrs.  Hawkins. 

"  No,  but  he  sold  his  negroes  at  his  own  price. 
Afterwards  we  sailed  for  the  Florida  coast,  which 
we  ranged  and  explored.  There  we  saw  serpents 
with  three  heads,*  fishes  that  fly  in  the  air  — " 

"  And  men  that  walked  on  their  heads,  perhaps," 
said  Bess,  looking  droll. 

"  Fishes  that  fly  in  the  air,  Miss  Bessie,  rising  in 
flocks  from  the  surface  of  the  water,  and  catching 
the  sunbeams  on  their  slimy  wings,  and  turning 
them  into  a  thousand  rainbows.  Then  we  saw 
dolphins  of  goodly  color  and  proportion  to  behold. 
We  sailed  up  the  rivers,  and  saw  flamingoes,  that 
fly  through  the  woods,  as  red  as  blood,  and  seem  to 
set  the  woods  on  fire.  Then  we  saw  the  egripts,  all 
white  as  a  swan,  which,  as  they  glide  through  the 
beautiful  foliage,  make  you  half  believe  that  you 
are  in  some  paradise  haunted  by  white-robed  be- 

*  "  The  Captain  of  the  Frenchman  saw  also  a  serpent  with  three 
heads  and  foure  feet,  of  the  bignesse  of  a  great  spaniell,  which  for 
want  of  a  harqucbuz  he  durst  not  attempt  to  slay."  —  Hawkins's  Sec 
ond  Voyage,  Hakluyt,  p.  616. 


166  THE    ADVENTURER. 

ings.  Sailing  from  Florida  towards  Newfound 
land,  we  had  contrary  winds,  and  scant  provisions, 
so  that  we  despaired  of  getting  home.  So  Captain 
Hawkins  got  all  the  crew  together,  and  called  upon 
God  in  fervent  supplication  and  prayer."  * 

"  Mr.  Hawkins  can  pray." 

"  Yes,  madam,  when  there  is  no  swearing  to  be 
done,  Captain  Hawkins  can  pray.  And  what  with 
the  praying,  and  the  wind,  and  the  swearing  withal, 
we  came  safe  into  Padstow,  as  you  are  already  in 
formed.  But  long  before  this,  my  sickness  had  set 
tled  into  a  low  chronic  fever,  and  I  owe  it  to  the 
best  of  motherly  and  sisterly  care  and  kindness 
that  I  am  living  in  this  wicked  world,  and  on  the 
only  quiet  spot  I  have  found  in  it  for  many  a  long 
day." 

*  "  In  which  state  of  great  misery  wee  were  provoked  to  call  upon 
God,  by  fervent  prayer,  which  moved  him  to  hear  us,  so  that  we  had 
a  prosperous  winde."  —  John  Sparke's  Narrative  of  Hawkins's  Voy 
age. 


CHAPTER    IV. 


From  cannibals  them  fled'st  in  vain  ; 

Christians  less  quarter  give  ;  — 
The  first  won't  eat  you  till  you  're  slain ; 

The  last  will  do  't  alive  ! " 


So  ended  the  stranger's  narrative  of  the  voyage, 
but  the  curiosity  of  his  auditors  was  rather  sharp 
ened  than  satisfied.  Who  is  this  Nimble  John, 
thought  they,  of  whom  we  have  heard  so  much,  and 
who  now  appears  before  us  to  charm  us  with  pic 
tures  of  the  tropics  ? 

"  I  think  you  said  you  were  an  Englishman  ;  but 
you  do  not  seem  to  have  a  very  good  opinion 
of  us." 

"  Why,  madam,  I  was  only  speaking  by  way  of 
comparison.  I  was  comparing  your  manners  and 
religion  with  those  of  the  Samboses,  and  the  differ 
ence  seemed  in  favor  of  the  latter.  Both  nations 
are  in  the  habit  of  roasting  people,  but  from  differ 
ent  motives  ;  the  Samboses  to  satisfy  their  hunger, 
the  English  to  satisfy  their  theological  hate.  The 
former  appetite  is  the  most  pardonable  of  the  two, 
I  think,"  his  lip  curling  again. 

"  You  have  suffered  in  the  religious  persecutions, 
perhaps." 


168 


THE    ADVENTURER. 


"  The  history  of  my  family  is  a  strange  one,  but 
I  have  no  wish  to  conceal  it.  My  father  was  ban 
ished  during  the  bloody  times  of  Henry,  and  died 
an  exile  in  Amsterdam.  I  barely  remember  him, 
for  I  was  not  six  years  old  when  he  died.  But  my 
mother  often  led  me  to  his  grave,  and  there  we  have 
sat  hours  together  while  she  would  tell  me  the  story 
of  his  wrongs;  and  the  lesson  which  she  breathed 
into  me,  or  rather  which  she  burned  into  my  soul, 
was  detestation  of  tyranny,  and  religious  tyrannies 
in  particular.  Her  great  black  eye  would  flash  fires 
that  almost  made  me  afraid,  when  she  told  me  of 
my  father's  exile ;  and  not  half  so  fervently  did 
Hannibal  make  his  son  swear  hatred  to  Rome  at 
the  altar,  as  she  made  me  take  the  vow  against  op 
pression  on  my  father's  grave.  She  led  me  every 
Sunday  to  the  old  St.  Nicholas  Church,  where  I 
knelt  and  worshipped  with  her  arm  around  me ;  and 
it  seemed  to  me  that  God's  spirit  always  entered 
my  heart  by  first  passing  straight  through  hers,  and 
that  it  lost  none  of  its  sanctity  on  the  way.  It  was 
not  long  before  my  mother  drew  attention  upon 
herself  and  her  orphan  child.  One  Sunday  evening 
there  came  a  lady  of  noble  carriage  to  our  house, 
which  stood  on  a  street  called  the  Princen  Gracht, 
and  I  remember  her  soothing  speech  and  dignified 
manners.  I  found  they  were  in  consultation  about 
me  and  my  education,  but  I  did  not  get  the  drift  of 
it.  «  Who  was  that  tall  lady,'  said  I,  after  she  had 
left  the  house,  '  and  what  is  she  going  to  do  with 
me  ? '  i  She  is  going  to  take  you  into  her  school,' 
said  my  mother.  *  Does  she  teach  school  ? '  I  asked, 


THE    ADVENTURER,  169 

rather  surprised.  <  Nay,  but  there  is  a  school  under 
her  patronage  to  which  her  son  passes  by  every  day, 
and  he  will  call  to-morrow  and  take  you  there. 
The  tall  lady  is  the  Lady  Egmond ;  she  has  a  son 
considerably  older  than  yourself,  who  attends  school 
on  the  Keysers,  and  is  just  closing  his  studies  there, 
and  you  are  to  go  there  with  him  to-morrow  morn 
ing.' 

"  The  young  man  came  along,  a  youth  with  a 
florid  and  blooming  countenance,  and  I  put  my  hand 
in  his  and  walked  to  the  Keysers.  He  took  me  un 
der  his  particular  care,  and  there  was  something  so 
noble  and  generous  in  his  bearing,  that  he  was  not 
long  in  getting  my  confidence  and  love.  He 
watched  the  friendless  boy  with  a  brother's  eye,  for 
I  was  the  youngest  in  the  school,  and  stammered 
Dutch  rather  awkwardly.  But  if  any  big  boy  at 
tempted  to  jeer  me  or  lord  it  over  me,  it  was  enough 
to  know  that  Lamoral  was  on  my  side.  So  I  got 
along  mighty  well,  and  learned  Dutch  and  naviga 
tion,  until,  as  I  told  you,  I  fell  in  with  Captain 
Hawkins,  enlisted  in  his  service,  and  sailed  to  the 
Canaries." 

"  And  your  mother  is  alive  yet  ?  " 

"  I  have  not  seen  her  since  the  memorable  day 
when  I  left  her  at  the  Princen.  I  was  to  sail  in  the 
Pelican  early  in  the  morning,  and  I  went  to  her 
chamber  to  bid  her  good  by.  She  had  risen,  and 
was  not  there.  I  followed  on  till  I  heard  her  in  her 
closet,  praying  for  her  child,  —  that  God  would  keep 
him  upon  the  great  deep,  and  above  all  keep  him 
from  the  temptations  of  evil  men.  I  saw  her  kneel- 

15 


170  THE  ADVENTURER. 

ing  before  her  crucifix,  and  was  about  to  withdraw, 
when  she  beckoned  me  to  her  side,  where  I  knelt 
with  her  arm  around  me  as  we  used  to  kneel  in 
church,  and  she  went  on  with  that  prayer,  which 
seemed  to  me  to  be  uttered  with  an  angel's  lips,  and 
which  God  has  answered  perpetually.  She  rose 
and  printed  a  kiss  on  my  forehead,  which  is  burning 
there  yet.  I  fell  upon  her  bosom,  and  there  all  our 
family  wrongs  rolled  hot  through  my  memory, — 
those  wrongs  which  had  fallen  so  heavily  on  her 
noble  heart,  but  had  not  been  able  to  crush  out 
either  its  energy  or  tenderness ;  and  there  I  took  the 
vow  to  be  true  to  her,  my  guardian  angel.  We 
parted.  Her  sweet  image  has  been  my  talisman  by 
land  and  sea.  I  hasten  back  to  that  room  on  the 
Princen  Gracht,  and  woe  is  me  if  the  living  image 
is  not  there  still,  You  have  brought  me  through  this 
terrible  sickness,  and  if  it  were  only  to  do  two  things, 
you  have  laid  me  under  an  eternal  obligation,  —  if 
it  were  only  to  clasp  my  mother  once  more,  and  tell 
her  how  her  prayers  have  prevailed,  and  to  find  out 
him  who  was  the  generous  and  manly  boy,  or  rath 
er  young  man,  for  he  was  my  senior  by  fifteen  years, 
and  who  when  I  had  neither  father  nor  brother  be 
came  both  to  me.  But  he  left  Amsterdam  long  be 
fore  I  did,  and  mayhap  I  shall  never  look  into  his 
loving  and  noble  face  again." 


CHAPTER    V. 


"  Oft  in  my  si  timberings  at  midnight, 

And  visions  dark  and  drearer, 
She  conies  and  calls  :  the  wind  sinks  down, 
And  sighs  in  awe  to  hear  her." 


"  DID  N'T  I  say  that  Molly  Hawkins  could  raise 
the  dead  ?  "  said  somebody,  stumping  through  the 
next  room  into  the  parlor,  when  the  bear-like  visage 
of  the  most  valiant  and  worshipful  John  Hawkins 
appeared  again,  his  beard  rather  cleaner  and  less 
grizzled  than  before  he  went  up  to  court.  "  Let 
alone  Molly  Hawkins  for  keeping  men  out  of  the 
churchyard."  And  he  seized  the  hand  of  Nimble 
John  in  both  of  his,  which  he  crushed  as  in  a  vice. 
"  You  are  safe  at  last,  my  faithful  fellow,  from  those 
black  heathen  devils,  and  their  pizen  cucumbers.  I 
nursed  ye  in  my  arms  like  a  sick  baby  over  the 
whole  Atlantic  Ocean,  to  keep  ye  out  of  the  sharks' 
jaws.  And  we  've  got  ye  out  of  Death's  grip,  praise 
be  to  the  Lord  and  Molly  Hawkins ! "  And  then 
making  a  grab  at  Bess,  and  drawing  her  into  his 
lap:  "  Come,  you  red  flamingo,  you  ought  to  have 
all  the  feathers  plucked  out  of  you,  for  growing  up 
into  an  eighteen-year-old  girl." 


172  THE    ADVENTURER. 

And  the  daughter  laid  her  florid  cheek  lovingly 
on  her  father's  weather-beaten  face,  brushing  the 
bristles  of  his  beard  with  her  fine,  glossy  ringlets. 
"  Father,  you  are  a  wicked  man ;  I  mean  to  tell 
Parson  Hobson." 

"  What  a'  murrain  has  the  girl  got  now  ?  " 

u  You  burnt  out  those  poor  Sapies,  and  carried 
them  off,  and  God  never  will  love  you  for  it,  nor 
mother  either." 

"Nonsense,  chuck,  you  don't  understand.  I  only 
convert  them  to  the  Christian  religion."  Then  turn 
ing  to  his  man  :  "  We  've  disposed  of  the  cargo.  A 
clean  quarter-million  left,  after  taking  out  her  Ma 
jesty's  share.  And  we  're  ready  for  another  voyage, 
and  have  given  you  the  command  of  the  Minion, 
with  her  Majesty's  blessing  upon  ye.  Your  little 
fortune  will  make  a  splendid  outfit,  and  ye  're  sure 
to  double  it  in  a  twelvemonth." 

"  Captain  Hawkins,  I  enlisted  in  your  service  for 
the  Canary  trade,  not  for  trade  in  human  beings ; 
and  I  'd  sooner  see  the  Jesus  of  Lubec  with  the 
whole  fleet  and  crew  sink  in  the  bottom  of  the  sea, 
than  engage  in  this  business." 

"  What  a'  murrain 's  got  the  man  now  !  Don't  I 
make  more  converts  to  Christianity  than  the  Arch 
bishop  of  Canterbury  ?  Would  ye  leave  the  poor 
devils  to  eat  each  other  up,  man  ?  have  God's  image 
turned  into  mutton-chops,  man  ?  or  would  ye  just 
carry  them  off,  and  put  them  under  good  Christian 
discipline  ?  Come,  come,  away  with  your  woman's 
conscience,  if  ye  mean  to  do  business  in  this  world." 

"  I  won't  do  any  business  in  this  world,  Captain 


THE    ADVENTURER.  173 

Hawkins,  that  would  interfere  with  my  business  in 
the  next.  As  for  this  Christianity  you  speak  of,  I 
think  heathenism  much  better.  Spanish  Christian 
ity  I  've  seen  quite  enough  of,  and  as  for  English 
Christianity,  my  family  but  just  escaped  out  of  its 
cannibal  jaws;  and  I  'd  be  glad  to  bring  hither  some 
scores  of  Sapies,  not  for  slaves,  but  to  convert  the 
nation  to  humanity." 

"  But  the  Queen  is  with  us,  and  smiles  upon  our 
scheme,  and  you  shall  have  a  round  hundred  thou 
sand  sterling  for  your  profits,  my  Nimble  John." 

"  Mif  queen  never  would  smile  upon  it,"  said 
Nimble  John,  and  the  image  of  his  mother  came 
before  him.  "  The  case  is  up,  Captain  Hawkins. 
I  've  sworn  eternal  hatred  to  all  sorts  of  oppres 
sion,  on  my  father's  grave." 

"  This  voyage  never  will  prosper,  John,"  said 
Mrs.  Hawkins.  "  It  is  such  gold  as  this  that  the 
Scripture  calls  cankered." 

"  I  told  you,  you  was  wicked,"  said  Bess,  hug 
ging  her  white  arms  still  closer  around  her  father's 
neck,  and  putting  the  rose  of  her  cheek  still  more 
warmly  to  the  tan  of  his. 

"  What  a'  murrain!  Are  ye  all  taking  sides  with 
the  younker  in  his  mutiny?  "  And  the  Right  Wor 
shipful  John  Hawkins  shambled  out  of  the  room. 

Before  we  take  our  leave  for  the  present  of  Nimble 
John,  whom  by  this  time  the  reader  has  discovered 
to  be  the  Little  Johnny  of  Bourchier  Hall,  well  devel 
oped  into  John  Bourchier  Sayer  the  navigator,  we 
must  follow  him  for  a  few  moments  to  Amsterdam. 

15=* 


174  THE  ADVENTURER. 

He  took  leave  of  Mrs.  Hawkins  with  ten  thou 
sand  fervent  thanksgivings.  "  What  can  I  do  for 
you,  madam  ?  you  have  saved  my  life." 

"  Speak  not  of  it.  I  knew  you  had  a  good 
mother,  for  none  other  can  have  so  good  a  son " ; 
and  she  graciously  received  on  her  cheek  a  warm 
kiss  from  the  stranger's  lips. 

Then  he  put  his  hand  into  the  gripe  of  his  late 
commander,  bidding  him  change  his  business  and 
prosper ;  and  the  old  sailor,  though  outwardly  hard 
ened  by  fight  and  storm,  choked  down  his  feelings 
as  he  gave  him  his  blessing.  Then,  looking  round 
the  room :  "  I  do  not  see  your  daughter ;  but  I  owe 
her  too  much  not  to  thank  her  for  all  her  goodness 
to  a  sick  man." 

"  She  's  away  this  morning,  minding  some  neces 
sary  affairs.  May  the  Lord  give  ye  safe  to  your 
mother." 

The  stranger  walked  down  to  the  harbor,  and  his 
vessel  was  soon  afloat  in  the  Catwater,  and  as  he 
turned  back  with  a  yearning  heart  towards  the 
house,  his  quick  eye  saw  a  female  form  watching 
him  from  the  balcony.  He  waved  his  hand,  but 
it  quickly  disappeared. 

When  Bessie  came  down  stairs  that  morning, 
with  a  cheerful  nonchalance  her  mother  drew  near, 
and  spoke  with  unusual  tenderness.  "  I  knew  how 
it  would  be  with  my  chubby.  She  has  heard  too 
many  charming  stories  for  her  peace  of  mind.  But 
never  you  be  carking  your  little  heart  about  it. 
The  stranger  saw  it  too,  and  meant  it,  for  I  watched 
him  ;  and  he  's  a  good  son  and  would  n't  do  a  mean 


THIS    ADVENTURER.  175 

thing  for  all  the  world.  So  don't  be  brooding  and 
dreaming  over  it,  my  darling."  And  Bessie's  lip 
quivered,  and  her  eye  filled,  though  she  felt  relieved 
when  she  found  her  mother  had  divined  the  smoth 
ered  secret. 

John  Bourchier  Sayer  is  again  in  Amsterdam, 
after  an  absence  of  six  years,  during  which  he  has 
sailed  over  half  the  globe,  and  encountered  all  hard 
ships  and  all  specimens  of  human  nature.  He 
floats  up  the  canal  into  the  Princen  Gracht,  be 
tween  the  same  rows  of  trees,  till  he  comes  to 
the  chestnut  that  still  brushed  the  windows  of  the 
old  home.  With  heart  almost  leaping  from  his 
bosom,  he  hastens  to  the  old  apartments,  and  knocks 
tremulous  at  the  door.  A  strange  Dutch  face 
makes  its  appearance. 

"  Is  the  Lady  Anne  Sayer  within  ?  " 
'  «  Nay,  sir !  " 

"  Will  you  tell  me  where  she  lives,  my  good 
woman  ?  " 

"  In  the  upper  world,  I  'm  thinking.  She  was  a 
saintly  woman,  and  has  gone  up  to  the  mansions, 
I  reckon." 

"  Where  's  her  family  ?  " 

"  Her  boy  went  away  in  an  English  ship,  o'er 
the  wide  world." 

"  And  her  servants  ?  " 

"  I  cannot  tell  ye,  but  they  be  gone  from 
here." 

With  these  words  knolling  through  his  brain, 
he  sought  the  residence  of  the  Lady  Egmond, 


176  THE  ADVENTURER. 

"  Like  one  who  from  a  distant  land 

Returns  his  home  to  see, 
And  starts  to  see  the  stranger  stand 
Beneath  his  father's  tree." 

Lady  Egmond  was  the  proper  person  from  whose 
lips  to  receive  the  dreaded  tale.  It  came  from  her 
in  a  soothing  tone  of  consolation,  mingled  with 
words  of  a  serene  and  rejoicing  faith.  She  had 
been  a  fast  friend  of  the  exiled  family,  sat  by  the 
Lady  Anne  in  her  sickness,  and  followed  her  to  her 
last  earthly  rest.  "  Your  mother  died  about  six 
months  ago ;  her  last  talk  of  things  below  ran  upon 
her  absent  boy,  and  her  last  look  was  fixed  on  the 
glories  of  heaven,  in  full  sight  of  which  she  seemed 
gently  to  fall  away."  He  learned,  moreover,  that 
Job,  five  years  since,  had  sung  his  last  song,  and 
slept  beside  his  master,  and  that  Lottie,  since  the 
death  of  her  mistress,  had  returned  to  England. 
Lamoral,  son  of  the  gentle  Lady  Egmond,  the 
generous  youth  who  had  protected  his  childhood, 
left  Amsterdam  long  since  for  his  patrimony  in 
Flanders,  where  he  had  become  the  idol  of  the 
people,  and  been  appointed  Stadtholder,  as  a  reward 
for  his  brilliant  military  achievements. 

Having  heard  this  recital,  he  went  out  and  paced 
the  streets  in  solitude,  alone  in  the  great  city  and 
the  great  world.  He  paced  back  and  forth  by  the 
old  school-room  on  the  Keysets,  and  came  at  last 
to  an  enclosure  behind  St.  Nicholas  Church.  In 
one  corner  was  a  spot  reserved  for  the  burial  of 
Catholic  English  exiles,  and  there  was  his  mother's 
grave.  It  was  beside  her  husband's,  and  still  looked 
fresh,  and  was  without  a  monument.  He  fell  down 


THE    ADVENTURER.  177 

upon  it,  and  there  the  pent-up  agony  found  its  way. 
The  old  story  of  the  family  wrongs  came  up  more 
fresh  than  ever,  —  those  wrongs  which  had  at  last 
crushed  down  the  form  of  the  sainted  one  beneath 
the  clod  on  which  he  lay ;  and  the  waves  of  bitter 
ness  broke  long  and  heavy  upon  his  soul ;  and 
even  when  the  dusk  of  twilight  had  settled  over 
the  graves,  and  the  moon  had  wheeled  up  the  sky, 
his  agony  was  not  yet  over.  But  at  last  a  sweet 
image  seemed  to  swim  before  the  eye  of  his  faith, 
as  if  to  say  to  him  in  pantomime,  "  Comfort,  my 
boy !  press  hither,  where  there  are  no  wrongs  nor 
troubles."  He  left  the  spot  with  new-made  vows, 
and  two  days  after,  there  was  a  simple  monument 
upon  the  grave  with  these  letters :  — 

MY  MOTHER 

SLEEPS   HERE    TILL   THE    GKEAT   MORNING. 


CHAPTER    VI. 

"A  country  that  draws  fifty  foot  of  water, 
In  which  men  live  as  in  the  hold  of  nature, 
And  when  the  sea  does  in  upon  them  break, 
And  drowns  a  province,  does  but  spring  a  leak." 

HUDIBRAS. 

SCENE  changes.  If  the  reader  can  be  trusted  to 
hold  on  here  to  the  thread  of  our  story,  we  will  en 
deavor  to  give  him  some  idea  of  the  marvellous 
events  through  which  it  must  take  its  course.  Per 
haps  you  have  got  your  notion  of  Dutchmen  through 
Knickerbocker's  History,  and  think  them  a  very  dull 
and  feather-headed  sort  of  people.  Did  you  know 
that  the  history  of  these  same  Dutchmen  transcends 
all  the  wonders  of  romance,  and  all  the  stories  of 
heroism,  whether  in  modern  history  or  classic  song  ? 
And  did  you  know  that  two  hundred  years  before 
the  American  Revolution,  which  is  our  pride  and 
boast,  they  established  in  Europe  the  principles  of 
our  Declaration  of  Independence  by  a  series  of 
struggles  that  evinced  all  the  great  virtues  of  which 
humanity  is  capable,  and  in  a  degree  to  which  the 
world  cannot  furnish  a  parallel  ?  The  Pilgrims 
went  to  Holland  for  religious  toleration.  Do  you 


THE    ADVENTURER,  179 

know  how  much  that  toleration  cost  the  men  who 
had  it  to  bestow  ?  Wonderful  people !  it  is  hardly 
meet  that  such  a  pen  as  mine  should  describe  your 
achievements ;  but  I  will  attempt  it  so  far  forth  as 
to  make  the  way  clear  for  the  thread  of  my  narra 
tive. 

And  first,  let  me  put  my  reader  into  a  clairvoyant 
mood,  and  take  him  to  Holland  on  a  sail  up  its 
rivers  and  canals.  The  canals  intersect  the  whole 
country  like  network,  as  thick  as  roads  in  New 
England  ;  and  what  is  curious,  the  canals  are  higher 
than  the  country  that  lies  between  them.  They 
are  not  dug-,  but  built,  —  built  through  what  once 
were  bogs  and  marshes  and  lakes ;  and  then  the 
bogs  and  marshes  and  lakes  are  pumped  dry  into 
them  of  all  their  water,  and  turned  into  blooming 
fields  and  gardens.  So  you  sail  along  and  look 
upon  the  farms  away  beneath  you,  sometimes  thirty 
feet  below  high-water  mark,  where  the  men  are  at 
work  in  the  fields,  and  the  flocks  are  feeding  in  clo 
ver.  A  bad  job,  a  Yankee  would  think,  to  pump  up 
all  that  water  into  the  canals,  —  yea,  to  pump  his 
farm  dry  every  morning !  But  look  at  those  rows 
of  windmills  all  along  on  the  banks  and  dikes,  with 
their  great  brawny  arms  whirling  and  whirling! 
These  do  the  work.  Boreas  comes  sweeping  and 
howling  from  the  Northern  Sea,  and  why  should  he 
not  be  put  to  some  use,  and  do  the  drudgery  of  the 
country?  He  will  do  more  labor  when  properly 
managed  than  three  millions  of  negro  slaves,  and 
ask  you  for  neither  pork  nor  corn-cake  in  return. 
Sometimes  the  morass  was  so  extensive,  and  shelved 


180  THE    ADVENTURER. 

down  so  low,  that  the  water  has  to  be  pumped  three 
times  over,  before  it  gets  to  a  level  with  the  sea,  and 
can  run  off,  in  which  case  three  systems  of  pumps 
are  in  requisition.  Down  towards  the  middle  of 
the  polder,  —  for  so  they  call  the  reclaimed  morass, 
—  the  windmills  pump  the  water  up  into  the  lowest 
set  of  water-courses,  then  others  into  higher  ones, 
and  others  still  into  the  canals.  So  there  the  grim 
giants  are  standing,  these  lusty  Briarsei,  one  row 
above  another,  handing  water  to  each  other  by  mil 
lions  of  barrels,  till  it  gets  to  the  sea-level,  but  leav 
ing  the  polders  impregnated  with  an  inexhaustible 
fertility ;  thus  doing  what  Dame  Partington  could 
not,  and  keeping  the  Atlantic  Ocean  swept  clean 
out. 

A  great  country  does  not  always  measure  its 
greatness  by  the  extent  of  territories  annexed. 
Neither  Attica  nor  Sparta  was  much  larger  than 
some  counties  in  Massachusetts ;  and  these  Neth 
erlands  we  have  described,  this  country  scooped  out 
of  the  sea,  with  its  polders  teeming  with  cattle  and 
corn,  could  be  laid  snugly  into  the  two  States  of 
Massachusetts  and  Connecticut,  with  considerable 
margin  to  spare.*  And  yet,  before  this  little  country 
of  polders  and  windmills,  Spain,  then  the  mightiest 
monarchy  in  the  world,  wielding  the  strength  of 
Europe,  with  the  gold  of  America  pouring  into 
her  coffers,  shrank  crippled  and  cowering  into  the 
dust. 

In  the  times  of  which  we  write,  the   Northern 

*  We  mean  the  Northern  or  Protestant  Netherlands. 


f 

THE    ADVENTURER.        //TT  ]•  181 


s. 

Netherlands  consisted  of  seven  provinces ;  namely, 
Holland  proper,  which,  being  the  strength  and  back 
bone  of  the  whole,  ultimately  gave  its  name  to  all 
the  rest,  Zealand,  Utrecht,  Friesland,  Groningen, 
Overyssel,  and  Guelderland.  Just  take  your  map 
and  see  these  provinces  clustered  around  the  Zuyder 
Zee,  and  leaning  lovingly  towards  each  other,  as  if 
expecting  to  join  hands  against  oppression.  You 
could  put  them  into  almost  any  two  of  the  New 
England  States.  And  Holland  (the  province  we 
mean),  which  singly  would  not  greatly  overlap  some 
of  our  counties,  was  the  leading  power  among  them. 

South  of  these,  and  on  the  other  side  of  the 
Meuse,  lay  the  Spanish  Netherlands,  —  called  thus 
distinctively  because  they  did  not  throw  off  the 
Spanish  yoke,  —  the  two  principal  provinces  of 
which  were  Flanders  and  Brabant,  corresponding 
in  part  to  what  is  now  Belgium.  The  people  of 
these  had  not  the  Dutch  temperament  and  man 
ners,  but  the  French  rather,  and  among  them  the 
Catholic  religion  prevailed. 

North  of  the  Meuse,  and  among  the  seven  prov 
inces,  the  Protestant  doctrines  had  spread  among 
all  classes,  but  particularly  in  Holland,  Zealand, 
and  Utrecht.  Spite  of  penal  laws  and  persecutions, 
the  people  had  imbibed  the  new  opinions  through 
the  bent  of  their  own  original  genius,  and  through 
the  influence  of  the  Bishop  of  Utrecht,  and  of  Eras 
mus,  who  lived  and  wrote  at  Rotterdam. 

All  these  provinces,  north  and  south,  belonged  to 
the  dominions  of  Charles  the  Fifth,  Emperor  of  Ger 
many  ;  and  when  that  monarch  resigned  his  empire, 

16 


182  THE    ADVENTURER. 

they  passed  into  the  hands  of  his  son,  Philip,  King  of 
Spain.*  Philip  visited  the  provinces  to  receive  their 
allegiance,  and  swore  "to  preserve  to  all  the  no 
bles,  towns,  commons,  and  subjects,  whether  lay  or 
clerical,  their  ancient  immunities  and  privileges." 
After  this,  the  Netherlands,  with  the  consent  of  the 
several  states,  were  declared  permanently  united 
under  the  government  of  one  sovereign,  with  all 
their  ancient  rights  severally  secured. 

During  a  four  years'  residence  among  his  Nether- 
land  subjects,  for  the  settlement  of  affairs,  Philip 
did  nothing  to  gain  the  love  of  the  people,  but  dis 
gusted  them  with  his  bigotry,  and  his  austere  and 
chilling  manners.  When  about  to  depart  for  Spain, 
in  1559,  it  became  necessary  to  appoint  some  one 
to  govern  the  provinces  in  his  absence,  and  it  was 
a  question  of  vital  interest  to  the  people  on  whom 
the  choice  was  to  fall.  Two  men  rose  prominent 
before  them,  around  whom  their  hopes  and  affec 
tions  most  fondly  clung,  and  both  of  whom  were 
destined  to  figure  largely  and  fearfully  in  coming 
events.  One  of  these  was  William,  Prince  of  Or 
ange.  In  his  wisdom,  foresight,  and  integrity  the 
people  had  unbounded  confidence,  though  as  yet 
he  had  seen  but  twenty-six  years.  He  was  thin, 
pale,  and  thoughtful,  and  acquired  among  his  ene 
mies  the  surname  of  the  Taciturn,  keeping  his  se 
crets  profoundly  locked  within  him,  yet  pleasing 
and  affable  to  all  who  approached  him.  The  other 

*  This  is  the  Philip  familiarly  known  to  English  readers  as  the 
husband  of  the  "  Bloody  Mary,"  and  the  real  adviser  and  author  of 
the  Marian  persecutions. 


THE    ADVENTURER.  183 

was  Lamoral,  Count  of  Egmond,  whom  we  have 
already  had  a  glimpse  of,  as  the  youth  of  frank  and 
generous  bearing,  but  who  has  since  become  the  bril 
liant  military  commander.  He  was  a  Dutchman  by 
birth,  but  had  the  warm  Southern  temperament  and 
love  of  profusion  and  show.  Though  older  than 
William  of  Orange  by  fifteen  years,  he  lacked  his 
judgment  and  penetration  into  the  motives  of  men; 
he  was  generous  and  confiding,  his  countenance  still 
open,  fresh,  and  blooming,  and  his  heart  full  of  the 
unchilled  enthusiasm  of  his  childhood.  He  had  a 
wife  whom  he  tenderly  loved,  was  the  father  of 
eleven  children,  three  sons  and  eight  daughters,  all 
of  whom  regarded  him  with  a  warm  idolatry.  His 
wealth  was  unbounded,  being  Count  of  Egmond  in 
Holland,  and  Prince  of  Gavres  and  Steenhuyzen 
in  Flanders.  There  was  a  well-known  saying,  — 
"  Brederode  the  noblest,  Wassenaar  the  oldest,  and 
Egmond  the  richest,  of  the  noble  families  of  Hol 
land." 

Overlooking  both  these  idols  of  the  people,  and 
probably  for  the  reason  that  they  were  such,  Philip 
placed  at  the  head  of  the  government  Margaret, 
Duchess  of  Parma,  his  natural  sister,  whom  accord 
ingly  he  had  summoned  from  Italy.  She  was  a 
woman  of  masculine  appearance  and  strong  un 
derstanding,  though  not  without  natural  goodness ; 
of  stature  tall  and  large,  and  with  "  something  of  a 
beard  on  the  upper  lip  and  chin  "  ;  but  what  recom 
mended  her  to  Philip  was  that  she  was  a  most 
devoted  Catholic,  having  been  a  pupil  and  penitent 
of  Ignatius  Loyola.  She  took  up  her  residence  at 


184  THE    ADVENTURER. 

Brussels  in  Brabant,  and  a  Council  of  State  was 
appointed  to  assist  her  in  the  -  conduct  of  affairs. 
The  Prince  of  Orange  and  the  Count  of  Egrnond 
were  both  made  members  of  this  council.  Separate 
Stadtholders  were  placed  over  all  the  Provinces,  ex 
cept  Brabant,  in  which  the  Governess  herself  resid 
ed.  The  Prince  of  Orange  was  made  Stadtholder 
of  Holland,  Zealand,  and  Utrecht,  the  Count  of 
Aremberg  of  Friesland,  Overyssel,  and  Groningen, 
the  Count  of  Megen  of  Guelderland,  and  the  Count 
of  Egmond  of  Flanders. 

Through  all  these  smooth  appearances  the  keen 
eye  of  Orange  saw  a  black  speck  in  the  horizon. 
The  Governess  had  been  received  in  the  country 
with  great  pomp,  and  in  a  public  audience  the  King 
professed  his  paternal  care  for  the  welfare  of  his 
states ;  but  at  the  close  of  his  address  admonished 
the  Governess,  and  every  member  of  the  government, 
to  be  diligent  in  executing  the  edicts  against  heretics. 
Coupled  with  this  declaration  was  the  fact  that 
some  twelve  thousand  Spanish  troops  were  left  in 
the  Netherlands.  This  alarmed  the  Deputies  of  the 
Provinces,  who  were  then  assembled  at  Ghent,  and 
they  presented  a  petition  to  the  King,  headed  by 
the  names  of  Orange  and  Egmond,  that  the  troops 
might  be  removed,  and  the  execution  of  the  edicts 
intrusted  solely  to  Netherlanders.  He  consented, 
but  those  two  conspicuous  and  illustrious  names 
seared  his  eyeballs,  and  he  never  forgave  it. 

All  things  being  arranged,  however,  the  King  set 
sail  from  Flushing.  As  he  was  about  to  embark, 
a  number  of  the  principal  nobility  came  to  bid  him 


THE    ADVENTURER.  185 

adieu,  Orange  among  the  rest.  Philip,  who  before 
had  well  dissembled  his  resentment,  now  in  parting 
bent  an  angry  countenance  upon  Orange,  and 
charged  him  with  impeding  the  execution  of  his 
measures. 

"  It  is  not  my  act,  sire,  but  that  of  the  States," 
said  Orange. 

"  Non  los  Estados,"  exclaimed  Philip,  seizing  his 
wrist  and  shaking  it  violently,  "mas  vos,  vos,  vos!"' 

Philip  embarked,  however,  with  flattering  expec 
tations  on  either  side,  in  a  fleet  of  fifty  large  and 
forty  smaller  vessels.  Just  before  he  reached  the 
port  of  Laredo,  a  violent  tempest  overtook  him  ;  the 
ship  in  which  he  sailed  foundered  and  went  down, 
and  all  his  baggage  and  jewels  with  it.  He  barely 
escaped  with  his  life,  and  in  a  small  boat  reached 
the  land.  He  bowed  in  worship  before  the  miracu 
lous  Providence  that  had  preserved  him,  and  made 
a  vow  to  devote  his  life  to  the  extirpation  of  heresy. 
As  soon  as  he  landed  in  Spain,  he  signalized  his 
gratitude  by  assisting  at  the  burning  of  a  number 
of  heretics,  among  whom  were  fourteen  ladies  of 
gentle  blood,  the  savor  of  whose  dying  agonies  he 
sent  up  to  the  throne  of  mercy. 

It  very  soon  became  evident  that  the  "  Council 
of  State  "  in  the  Netherlands  was  the  merest  shad 
ow,  and  that  none  but  the  creatures  of  Philip  had 
any  share  in  the  government.  Among  these  crea 
tures  there  was  one  man  who  stood  conspicuous, 
and  who  alone  had  the  ear  of  the  Governess.  This 


*  "  Not  the  States,  but  you,  you,  you  !  "     The  form  of  expression 
was  one  of  contempt  among  the  Spaniards. 
16* 


186  THE    ADVENTURER. 

was  Anthony  Perrenot  de  Granvelle,  a  man  of  al 
most  unparalleled  resources  and  abilities,  and  fit  to 
be  made  the  iron  tool  of  oppression.  He  spoke  seven 
languages,  and  was  eloquent  in  all  of  them,  dictated 
at  once  to  five  amanuenses,  worked  all  night  with 
out  fatigue,  was  an  unscrupulous  arid  bigoted  Pa 
pist,  and  had  complete  control  of  affairs.  One  of 
his  first  measures  was  to  thrust  upon  the  people 
fourteen  new  bishops,  nominated  by  the  King,  and 
confirmed  by  the  Pope,  and  get  himself  made  Arch 
bishop  with  a  cardinal's  hat,  and  bring  in  the  Inqui 
sition  with  all  its  hateful  cruelties.  On  all  sides 
came  up  murmurs  from  the  people,  that  grew  loud 
er  and  louder,  and  broke  in  a  storm  of  hatred  around 
the  person  of  Granvelle.  The  whole  country  teemed 
with  lampoons  and  pasquinades,  and  the  new  bish 
ops  were  threatened  with  death  if  they  attempted 
to  enter  upon  their  sees.  As  the  foreign  troops  had 
not  been  withdrawn,  agreeably  to  the  promise  of  the 
King,  the  States  refused  to  contribute  funds  for  their 
support,  and  the  Zealanders  declared  they  would 
leave  the  dikes  unrepaired,  and  their  land  to  be 
swallowed  up  by  the  ocean,  rather  than  preserve  it 
to  be  overrun  by  a  foreign  soldiery.  Orange  and 
Egmond,  finding  themselves  entirely  disregarded  in 
the  government,  withdrew  in  silent  dignity  from  the 
Council  of  State,  addressed  a  letter  to  the  King, 
described  the  threatened  ruin  of  the  country,  and 
prayed  for  the  removal  of  Granvelle. 

For  the  present  the  storm  was  stayed.  Granvelle 
was  not  recalled,  but  voluntarily  withdrew,  and  the 
troops  were  removed  from  the  country.  Orange 


THE    ADVENTURER.  187 

and  Egmond  returned  to  the  Council,  and  were  con 
sulted  by  the  Governess  as  the  representatives  of  the 
"  patriot "  party.  The  edicts  remained  unexecuted, 
and  the  enjoyment  of  security  and  liberty  of  con 
science  diffused  universal  contentment  among  the 
people,  and  the  angry  waves  of  turbulence  sank 
down  into  a  calm. 

But  it  was  specious  and  delusive,  and  owing  to  the 
prudence  of  the  Governess,  and  not  to  the  altered 
determination  of  the  King.  Despatches  soon  arrived 
from  Spain,  ordering  the  decrees  of  the  Council  of 
Trent  to  be  published  throughout  the  Netherlands, 
and  enforced  to  the  letter,  the  Inquisition  to  be 
pressed  down  upon  the  people  with  the  whole  au 
thority  of  government,  and  the  penal  edicts  to  be 
executed  with  rigor.  Surprised  and  chagrined  as 
she  read  the  despatches,  the  Governess  spread  them 
before  her  Council  for  advice.  She  knew  the  temper 
of  her  people,  and  she  saw  the  blood  that  must  flow. 
A  stormy  debate  arose.  The  King's  partisans  ad 
vised  that  the  despatches  be  kept  secret  till  an  am 
bassador  be  sent  to  explain  to  Philip  the  state  of  the 
country.  Then  Orange  rose,  and  by  a  stroke  of 
policy  for  which  he  incurred  afterwards  the  censure 
of  both  friends  and  enemies,  precipitated  the  crisis 
which  he  saw  must  come.  He  and  his  party  insist 
ed  that  the  King's  pleasure  should  immediately  be 
made  known,  and  the  despatches  published.  That 
he  saw  the  result  cannot  be  doubted.  That  he  ad 
vised  wrong  is  not  so  clear,  since  he  knew  the  tem 
per  of  the  King  and  of  the  people,  and  that  a  col 
lision  must  come  at  last.  Right  or  wrong,  his 


188  THE    ADVENTURER. 

advice  prevailed ;  the  decrees  were  sent  to  all  the 
Stadtholders,  and  the  magistrates  were  commanded 
to  aid  the  inquisitors  and  enforce  the  edicts. 

Everywhere  the  people  answered  the  despatches 
with  lowering  anger,  which  soon  burst  into  tumult. 
Inflammatory  pamphlets  were  circulated;  placards 
were  posted  on  the  walls  of  the  towns,  exhorting  the 
people  to  resist  the  Inquisition  and  the  Spanish 
tyranny,  and  every  effort  to  discover  the  authors 
was  made  in  vain.  The  nobles  saw  that  an  insur 
rection  must  come,  and  that  they  must  either  guide 
and  control  the  rising  turbulence,  or  else  have  their 
own  estates  plundered  and  involved  in  the  ruin. 
They  banded  together  in  a  confederacy,  which  was 
signed  by  some  hundreds  of  the  nobility  and  prin 
cipal  merchants,  pledging  mutual  support  in  resist 
ing  the  Inquisition  and  defending  the  lives  and  prop 
erty  of  each  other.  They  went  up  to  Brussels  with 
a  petition  to  the  Governess  for  a  redress  of  griev 
ances  ;  they  went  through  the  city  on  foot,  unarmed 
and  plainly  dressed ;  others  joined  them  and  swelled 
their  numbers  ;  they  formed  a  procession  numbering 
from  three  to  four  hundred,  and  marched  to  court 
four  abreast,  slowly  and  in  solemn  silence,  while 
the  crowds  stood  mute  and  the  streets  were  hushed 
before  the  imposing  spectacle.  Seeing  them  plainly 
dressed  as  they  came  up,  the  Count  of  Barlaimont 
remarked  to  the  Governess :  "  Fear  not,  they  are 
only  a  troop  of  beggars  (gueux)."  The  taunt  was 
taken  up  by  other  lips,  and  turned  into  a  watchword 
of  liberty.  The  answer  of  the  Governess  did  not 
satisfy  them,  and  they  assembled  in  the  evening  at 


THE    ADVENTURER.  189 

a  feast,  where  their  vows  of  patriotism  became  fer 
vent  and  strong.  "  Long  live  the  Gueux ! "  rang 
round  and  round  the  apartment,  amid  mirth  and 
wine ;  and  the  name  of  contempt  became  their 
boast  and  glory.  It  was  adopted  everywhere  by 
those  who  opposed  the  measures  of  the  government. 
They  dressed  themselves  in  a  beggar's  costume  of 
gray,  with  a  wooden  cup  bound  in  their  caps,  such 
as  mendicant  monks  were  used  to  carry,  and  made 
these  the  honored  badges  of  liberty. 

Orange  and  Egmond  did  not  sign  the  petition, 
and  they  kept  aloof  from  all  violent  measures.  They 
even  informed  the  Governess  faithfully  of  the  con 
federacy,  and  pledged  themselves  to  support  her. 
But  the  people  were  aroused,  and  nothing  could 
now  stay  the  tide  except  the  repeal  of  the  edicts. 
Margaret,  the  Governess,  sent  to  the  King  for  instruc 
tions,  suspending  their  execution  meanwhile.  The 
Council  petitioned  for  a  moderation  of  the  edicts. 
The  King  consented  to  soften  the  decrees,  in  that 
Reformed  preachers,  composers,  and  printers  should 
be  hanged  instead  of  burnt,  and  that  the  punish 
ment  of  death  should  be  changed  to  banishment 
only,  for  the  common  people.  "  This  moderation  is 
murderation"  said  the  populace,  and  the  Reformers 
went  on  more  boldly  than  ever.  Instead  of  meeting 
in  woods  and  by-places,  they  assembled  in  the 
broad  fields  outside  the  walls  of  the  cities,  flocking 
together  in  thousands,  to  show,  they  said,  "  how 
many  the  Inquisition  would  have  to  burn,  slay,  and 
banish."  The  first  of  these  assemblies  was  held 
near  Oudenarde.  The  people,  to  the  number  of 


190  THE    ADVENTURER. 

seven  thousand,  went  out  of  the  city  into  an  open 
plain  ;  the  wagons  formed  a  circuit,  and  girded  the 
enclosure,  on  which  guards  of  armed  men  were  sta 
tioned  ;  a  pulpit  of  rough  planks  was  raised  in  the 
centre ;  women  and  children  formed  round  it,  while 
about  the  women  stood  serried  ranks  of  stern  men ; 
one  Herman  Stryker,  a  Reformed  preacher,  mounted 
the  platform  ;  a  death-like  silence  was  on  the  sea  of 
faces  while  the  deep  intonations  of  the  preacher 
were  borne  upon  the  wind,  and  rolled  over  the  vast 
multitudes ;  their  red-hot  passions  took  mould  and 
form  beneath  his  words,  and  became  settled  resolves ; 
the  congregation  lifted  a  psalm  together  against  the 
blue  heavens,  and  then  wound  slowly  to  the  gates 
of  the  city,  and  dispersed,  every  man,  with  closed 
lips  and  a  knit  brow,  to  his  home.  Such  scenes  as 
these  occurred  through  nearly  all  the  towns  of  Hol 
land. 

Disgraceful  transactions  ensued.  A  congregation 
at  Ypres  in  Flanders,  returning  from  their  field-wor 
ship  without  the  walls,  passed  by  Catholic  church 
es  with  their  crosses  and  images.  "  Why,"  thought 
they,  "  should  we  be  driven  in  disgrace  to  worship 
God  outside  the  walls,  while  the  Papists  sit  secure 
amid  their  splendid  mummeries  within?"  And  the 
crosses  and  images  became  in  their  eyes  the  hate 
ful  badges  of  a  religion  that  sought  to  crush  them, 
They  fell  upon  the  churches,  and  emptied  their  sa 
cred  furniture  into  the  streets ;  the  ways  became 
strewed  with  torn  pictures  and  broken  statues.  The 
fury  was  contagious.  It  spread  from  city  to  city, 
and  from  town  to  town.  The  cathedrals  were  plun- 


THE    ADVENTURER.  191 

dered  and  shattered,  and  their  contents  trampled  in 
the  streets  by  maniac  mobs,  and  a  scene  of  icono- 
clasm  spread  over  the  Provinces  which  good  men 
beheld  with  shuddering.  Never  were  outrages  more 
ill-timed  or  more  ruinous  to  a  good  cause.  The 
native  Catholics,  who  before  had  sympathized  with 
the  popular  mind,  now  took  sides  with  the  govern 
ment.  Margaret  found  means  to  raise  troops  and 
suppress  the  riots.  She  brought  the  ringleaders  to 
condign  punishment,  and  before  many  months  she 
had  restored  order  in  the  Provinces,  completely 
broken  up  the  confederation  of  the  nobles,  and  abol 
ished  the  public  worship  of  the  Reformers.  They 
had  built  several  churches.  She  had  them  pulled 
down  and  made  into  gibbets,  on  which  dangled  the 
corpses  of  image-breakers ! 


CHAPTER    V.I  I. 


"  Saith  Saint  Augustine,  though  the  devils  be  wolves  that  strangle 
the  sheep  of  Jesu  Christ,  they  do  worse  than  wolves ;  for  soothly 
when  the  wolf  hath  filled  his  wombe,  he  stinteth  to  strangle  sheep  ;  but 
soothly  the  destroyers  of  holy  churches  goodness  do  not  so,  for  they 
never  stint  their  strangling/'  — CHAUCER. 


THE  city  of  Brussels  stands  on  a  theatre,  across 
which  have  passed  the  thrilling  events  of  the  drama 
of  history,  from  the  days  of  the  resignation  of  Charles 
the  Fifth  to  the  day  of  the  most  decisive  battle  of 
Modern  Europe.  The  river  Senne  flows  through  a 
valley  of  beautifully  diversified  scenery,  flanked  on 
either  side  by  sloping  heights,  and  on  one  of  these 
slopes  is  the  city  of  Brussels.  As  you  approach  it 
from  the  west,  you  see  it  rising  from  the  Senne  as 
a  splendid  amphitheatre  of  houses,  till  it  covers  the 
summit  like  a  queenly  crown.  At  the  foot  of  the 
hill,  where  are  the  quays  and  canal  basins,  the  city 
swarms  with  commercial  life  ;  but  as  your  eye  rises 
up  the  acclivity  it  meets  with  green  parks  and 
squares,  surrounded  by  ducal  palaces.  At  two  of 
these  squares  we  will  pause  for  a  single  moment. 
The  Grand  Place,  sometimes  called  the  "  Horse- 
Market,"  is  in  the  centre  of  the  upper  city,  a  noble 


THE    ADVENTURER.  193 

square,  containing  the  gorgeous  old  Hotel  de  Ville, 
—  a  civic  palace  in  the  florid  Gothic  style,  with  its 
quaint  sculptures  and  pointed  turrets.  Its  pyram 
idal  tower  rises  to  a  summit  of  nearly  four  hun 
dred  feet,  from  the  top  of  which  you  look  away 
over  the  level  country  and  along  the  whole  valley 
of  the  Senne,  and  nine  miles  to  the  south  see  the 
Waterloo  plains,  two  hundred  and  fifty  years  from 
the  events  we  are  describing,  to  be  watered  with 
the  blood  of  Europe.  There  is  another  square, 
the  large  palace  garden  called  the  Park,  surround 
ed  by  four  uniformly  built  streets,  which  compare 
well  with  the  finest  streets  of  European  capitals. 
On  one  of  these,  the  Rue  Bellevue,  or  the  Street 
of  Beautiful  Views,  is  a  spot  consecrated  alter 
nately  wTith  as  much  domestic  happiness  and  an 
guish  as  any  spot  in  the  world.  Here  stood  the 
residence  occupied  by  the  Count  of  Egmond,  over 
looking  the  palace  garden,  whose  statuary  gleamed 
through  linden-trees,  overlooking,  far  below,  the  soft 
luxuriance  of  the  valley  of  the  Senne.  Hither  he 
was  wont  to  come  from  the  debates  in  the  Council 
of  State,  to  caress  his  infant  son  and  be  the  sun 
light  of  his  family  and  bask  himself  in  its  charms. 
He  had  now  four  daughters  in  the  freshest  bloom 
of  early  womanhood,  the  oldest  one  happy  in  her 
recent  betrothal,  and  he  had  several  younger  chil 
dren,  who  kept  his  home  alive  with  their  prattle  and 
play.  Of  his  son  Philip,  now  about  nine  years  old, 
we  shall  hear  again.  In  this  domestic  scene,  which 
caught  its  sunshine  from  the  exuberant  joyousness 
of  his  own  heart,  he  was  called  to  decide  between 

17 


194  THE    ADVENTURER. 

two  courses  of  action,  on  which  a  prudent  man 
would  have  pondered  well.  He  was  summoned  to 
the  presence  of  the  Governess,  and  a  new  oath  was 
demanded  of  him  and  the  Prince  of  Orange.  They 
had  not  joined  the  "  Gueux";  they  had  both  been 
active  in  suppressing  the  recent  disturbances.  Both 
were  Catholics.*  But  they  were  opposed  to  the 
Inquisition.  They  were  idols  of  the  people,  and 
both  their  names  were  on  that  petition  for  the  re 
moval  of  the  troops  which  first  roused  the  secret 
ire  of  Philip. 

The  new  oath  required  of  them  "  to  use  their  ut 
most  endeavors  to  uphold  the  Catholic  Church,  to 
punish  the  sacrilegious,  and  extirpate  heresy;  and 
that  they  should  treat  as  enemies  all  those  whom 
she  declared  such  in  the  King's  name."  Egmond 
and  most  of  the  Council  took  the  oath.  Orange 
steadily  refused  it. 

Soon  after,  a  private  interview  took  place  between 
these  two  nobles,  and  long  and  earnest  was  the  con 
ference.  Orange  charged  Egmond  with  deserting 
the  cause  of  the  country,  and  painted  in  glowing 
colors  the  bloody  future  that  was  not  far  off.  Both 
had  received  letters  from  the  King,  containing  most 
gracious  assurances  of  the  royal  favor.  But  the 
keen  eye  of  Orange  looked  through  the  whole. 
Beside  his  unrivalled  sagacity,  he  had  secret  sour 
ces  of  knowledge.  He  had  a  spy  in  the  court  of 
Philip,  who  kept  him  informed  of  all  the  counsels 
and  purposes  of  that  wily  bigot.  He  knew  that  a 

*  Orange  became  a  Protestant  afterwards. 


THE    ADVENTURER.  195 

Spanish  army  was  to  be  sent  into  the  Netherlands, 
and  he  knew  the  work  they  were  to  do. 

"  I  assure  you,  my  dear  Egmond,  that  we  have 
safety  only  in  two  things.  We  must  form  a  league 
among  the  nobles,  and  oppose  the  coming  of  the 
Spaniards,  or  we  must  fly." 

"  No,  no,"  said  Egmond.  "  Away  with  these 
gloomy  suspicions !  I  shall  do  nothing  to  offend 
my  sovereign.  I  have  offended  him  too  much 
already.  But  I  have  abundant  assurance  of  his 
grace  and  clemency,  and  I  know,  from  the  impor 
tant  aid  I  have  rendered  in  suppressing  the  riots 
and  punishing  the  image-breakers,  that  I  have 
everything  to  hope.  Our  hope  is  in  the  royal  good 
ness,  which  I  know  to  be  great." 

They  separated.  Orange  revolving  his  gloomy 
thoughts,  Egmond  with  a  buoyant  spirit  seeking 
again  his  family  on  the  Rue  Bellevue,  and  rejoicing 
in  conscious  security.  Pomp,  luxury,  ease,  emolu 
ment,  the  favor  of  a  court,  domestic  peace,  were 
not  to  be  given  up  without  the  sublime  philosophy 
which  raises  man  above  the  present;  —  and  this 
belonged  not  to  Egmond.  With  his  defection  from 
the  popular  side,  and  the  withdrawal  of  his  immense 
influence,  the  cause  of  liberty  in  the  Netherlands 
was  hopeless  for  the  present. 

But  Orange  was  to  be  gained  over  if  possible. 
Margaret  knew  well  that  all  Holland  and  Zealand 
waited  upon  his  word.  She  plied  every  art  to  re 
tain  him  and  induce  him  to  take  the  oath.  A  last 
memorable  meeting  was  appointed.  It  was  at 
Willebrock,  a  place  on  the  Rupel,  between  Brussels 


196  THE    ADVENTURER. 

and  Antwerp,  and  such  important  consequences 
were  thought  to  hang  on  the  decisions  of  the  con 
ference,  that  a  Calvinist  spy  concealed  himself  in 
the  chimney  to  hear  it.  Along  with  Egmond,  Mar 
garet  sent  her  secretary,  Berti,  and  the  young  Count 
Mansfeld,  that  their  combined  argument  and  elo 
quence  might  shake  the  resolve  of  the  Prince. 
Orange  appeared  with  the  same  pale  and  thought 
ful  face,  and  with  all  the  secrets  of  Philip's  cabinet 
buried  in  his  breast,  where  his  spirit  brooded  upon 
them  by  night  and  day.  Of  course  the  combined 
eloquence  of  the  three  fell  on  him  as  on  a  rock  of 
flint.  Then  Egmond  took  him  one  side  to  a  win 
dow,  and  used  all  the  entreaties  of  ardent  friendship. 

"  It  will  cost  you  your  estates,  Orange,  if  you 
persist  in  your  purpose." 

"  And  you  your  life,  Egmond,  if  you  change  not 
yours.  To  me,  at  least,  it  will  be  a  consolation  in 
my  misfortunes,  that  I  dared  in  deed  as  well  as 
in  word  to  help  my  country  in  her  hour  of  need. 
But  you,  my  friend!  you  are  dragging  friends  and 
country  with  you  to  destruction." 

"  You  will  never  persuade  me,  Orange,  to  see 
things  in  the  light  in  which  they  appear  to  your 
mournful  prudence.  The  King  is  good  and  just. 
I  have  claims  upon  his  gratitude,  and  I  must  not 
forget  what  I  owe  to  myself  and  my  wife  and  chil 
dren." 

"  Well,  then,"  said  Orange,  with  bitter  anguish, 
"  trust  if  you  will  to  this  royal  gratitude  ;  a  mourn 
ful  presentiment  tells  me  that  you,  Egmond,  will 
be  the  bridge  by  which  the  Spaniards  will  pass  over 


THE    ADVENTURER.  197 

into  the  Netherlands,  and  when  they  have  used  you 
for  that  purpose,  they  will  destroy  you  without 
mercy." 

Then  Orange  drew  him  to  his  breast  and  clasped 
him  in  his  arms.  Long  and  tenderly,  as  if  the  sight 
was  to  serve  him  for  a  lifetime,  did  he  keep  his 
eyes  upon  him,  till  the  tears  were  flowing  fast. 

They  parted. 

"  Adieu,  Prince,  sans  terre"  said  Egmond. 

"  Adieu,  Count,  sans  tete"  said  Orange.* 

Orange  resigned  his  seat  in  the  Council  the  next 
day,  and  retired  to  Holland. 

Egmond  went  on  towards  the  awful  and  bloody 
chasm  whose  mouth  was  concealed  by  the  pendent 
flowers  and  lilies. 

Order  has  been  restored,  the  band  of  the  Gueux 
broken  up,  the  image-breakers  punished,  and  Mar 
garet  is  now  expecting  to  enjoy  her  regency  with 
her  people.  But  the  hate  of  Philip  is  not  satisfied. 
An  army  of  twenty  thousand  Spanish  veterans  is 
on  its  way  to  the  Netherlands,  men  hardened  to  the 
work  of  carnage  in  the  wars  of  Italy.  They  are 
led  on  by  the  Duke  of  Alva,  already  famed  as  the 
wholesale  butcher  of  men.  They  march  at  leisure 
with  two  classes  of  attendants,  —  priests  and  cour 
tesans, —  nevertheless  under  admirable  discipline. 
So  the  vindicators  of  the  true  faith  are  coming! 
In  vain  does  Margaret  remonstrate.  In  vain  does 

*  These  last  words,  given  on  the  authority  of  Aubery  du  Maurier, 
Davics  discredits  on  account  of  their  "  coarse  and  cruel  irony."  They 
sound  rather  like  words  of  desperate  and  bitter  anguish. 


198  THE    ADVENTURER. 

she  represent  to  Philip  that  the  troubles  are  all 
suppressed,  and  no  foreign  troops  are  wanted.  In 
vain  does  her  woman's  heart  prompt  her  to  plead 
for  clemency  and  conciliation  with  the  gloomy 
council  at  Madrid. 

The  Netherlands  wait  breathless  before  the  com 
ing  destruction,  yet  with  vague  hopes  of  concilia- 
lion.  One  hundred  thousand  persons  leave  the 
country  while  the  storm  is  yet  distant.  Egmond 
is  full  of  hope,  declaiming  of  the  royal  clemency 
and  justice,  soothing  the  fears  and  exciting  the 
hopes  of  the  people.  He  puts  himself  at  the  head 
of  the  nobles,  and  they  go  to  the  frontier  with  a 
pompous  retinue  to  meet  Alva. 

"  We  bid  your  Excellency  welcome,"  said  Eg 
mond. 

"  Welcome  or  not,  I  am  here,"  said  Alva. 
Alva  was  a  man  of  consummate  abilities,  of 
distinguished  eloquence,  of  great  military  skill,  and 
sternly  faithful  to  his  king.  He  was  tall  and  gaunt, 
his  face  long  and  cadaverous,  his  eyes  deep  sunk  in 
his  forehead,  whence  they  lowered  rather  than  looked. 
He  had  been  the  most  successful  commander  of  his 
time,  and  had  learned  to  shed  the  blood  of  his  fel 
low-men  with  as  little  compunction  as  a  beast  of 
prey.  He  leads  the  Spanish  army  into  Brussels 
amid  silence  like  that  of  a  tomb.  Business  leaves 
the  streets,  the  windows  of  the  houses  are  closed, 
and  the  Grand  Place  in  the  centre  of  the  city  is 
made  a  garrison  for  Spanish  soldiers,  while  a  deep 
gloom,  like  the  pause  before  the  thunder-crash, 
spreads  over  the  city  and  thence  over  all  the  Prov 
inces. 


CHAPTER    VIII. 

"  So  as  she  thus  mclancholickc  did  ride, 

Chawing  the  cud  of  grief  and  inward  paine, 
She  chanced  to  meet,  toward  the  even-tide, 
A  knight  that  softly  paced  on  the  plaine." 

Faerie  Queene. 

VERY  good  and  proper  people  say  that  young 
women  have  no  right  to  get  in  love,  until  some 
particular  gentleman  kneels  to  them,  and  thaws 
out  their  hearts  with  a  profession  of  particular  pas 
sion  ;  of  which  rule  all  young  women  will  doubt 
less  take  due  notice.  You  are  to  behave  well  and 
proper  towards  everybody,  but  you  have  no  busi 
ness  to  know  there  is  any  such  thing  as  love,  and 
the  young,  handsome  Duke  of  Castle  Hall  is  to 
be  precisely  the  same  to  you  as  Tom  Snooks  of 
Shoveldom,  so  far  as  all  this  matter  is  concerned. 
You  are  to  be  like  Maud,  and  wear  a  cold  and  clear- 
cut  face,  "  faultily  faultless  and  icily  regular,"  till 
some  one  undertakes  to  find  the  perilous  way  to  the 
warm  springs  away  in  your  inmost  hearts,  through 
successive  layers  of  frost  and  snow.  We  cannot 
say,  then,  that  we  fully  approve  of  the  conduct  of 
Bessie  in  the  exuberance  of  her  affections. 
Then  as  to  unmarried  men  in  general,  if  you  mean 


200  THE    ADVENTURER. 

always  to  maintain  a  cool  independence,  and  never 
be  taken  off  your  feet,  never  fall  sick  away  from 
your  mothers  and  sisters.  As  surely  as  you  wake 
up  elsewhere,  and  see  that  other  eyes  have  been 
watching  you ;  or  as  sure  as  you  take  your  fever- 
powders  from  fairy  fingers  ;  or  as  sure  as  too  soft  a 
hand  fixes  and  smoothes  your  pillow ;  you  become 
completely  magnetized,  and  your  senses  from  that 
day  forward  are  not  like  the  senses  of  other  men. 

But  enough  of  advice.  It  comes  too  late  for  poor 
Bessie.  In  the  warmth  of  her  goodness,  she  took 
care  of  a  sick  man,  till  she  saw  health  blossoming 
on  his  countenance,  and  she  listened  to  his  stories, 
told  in  tones  quick  and  tremulous  with  gratitude. 
He  went  away,  but  the  vision  has  staid  with  her, 
and  she  has  looked  many  times  down  the  bay 
where  the  sail  disappeared.  But  it  is  a  year  ago. 
And  Captain  Hawkins  is  gone,  too,  on  another 
perilous  voyage,  and  Mrs.  Hawkins  and  Bessie 
both  are  bending  anxious  eyes  over  the  bay  for  his 
returning  sail,  and  trembling  at  every  storm  that 
sends  its  waitings  into  the  Catwater.  They  are 
sitting  at  the  south  window  one  warm  October  af 
ternoon.  Mrs.  Hawkins  has  been  particularly  ten 
der  towards  her  little  flamingo,  for  she  cannot  help 
seeing  that  her  brightness  has  somewhat  faded,  and 
mirth  has  departed  from  her  song. 

"  Is  not  that  the  Jesus  of  Lubec,  mother,  beating 
up  the  bay  ?  " 

"  Nay,  my  bird,  the  Jesus  is  longer  and  deeper; 
and  don't  you  see  she  has  not  the  sign  of  St.  George 
upon  her  colors  ?  It 's  a  Dutchman." 


THE    ADVENTURER.  201 

Sure  enough,  a  dozen  Mynheers  were  on  the  wharf 
in  less  than  an  hour,  greeted  by  divers  other  Myn 
heers  from  the  town,  with  their  "  Hoe  gaat  het,"  and 
"  Bin  uw  be  kant  mit  Mynheer,"  blending  with  end 
less  and  undistinguished  jabber.  It  was  not  long 
before  a  tall  and  comely  gentleman  was  making  his 
way  to  Mrs.  Hawkins's  door. 

"  Why  the  rnercy  !  "  said  Mrs.  Hawkins,  "  it 's 
Nimble  John,"  —  and  all  the  color  went  out  from 
Bessie's  cheek. 

"  And  how  is  my  good  mother  ?  "  said  he,  as  he 
entered  the  room,  kissing  her  reverently  ;  and  then, 
turning  to  Bess,  and  taking  both  her  hands  in  his: 
"  May  I  kiss  her  too  ?  " 

"  Why  yes !  and  bring  back  into  her  cheek  the 
crimson  blossoms  ";  and  the  long-smothered  secret 
of  both  hearts  found  its  full  utterance. 

He  looked  into  her  face,  and  the  pent-up  feelings 
of  twelve  months  melted  into  her  eyes  as  they 
gazed  into  his.  He  saw  indeed  that  the  laughing 
roses  had  left  her  cheek,  once  so  round  and  full,  and 
that  the  delicate  lily  had  come  in  its  place,  and  the 
whole  meaning  of  Mrs.  Hawkins's  words  flashed 
upon  his  mind. 

"  Why,  I  did  wrong,  very  wrong.  I  never  ought 
to  have  left  you  with  this  secret  smouldering  in  both 
our  hearts;  but  upon  my  word  I  did  not  know  how 
it  was  with  you.  When  I  first  woke  out  of  that 
horrible  fever,  I  thought  you  was  the  angel  of  my 
dream,  and  when  I  found  that  I  was  broad  awake, 
and  that  you  did  not  melt  into  air,  you  seemed 
more  of  an  angel  than  ever.  But  I  did  not  dare  to 


202  THE    ADVENTURER. 

tell  you  so,  for  I  expected  what  the  sailors  call  a 
young  furicano  with  Captain  Hawkins.  I  thought 
when  we  parted  company  that  he  would  be  for  put 
ting  me  into  one  of  his  arquebuses,  and  blowing  me 
up  against  the  sky.  So  I  would  not  think  of  doing 
anything  that  looked  like  plucking  his  bird  out  of 
his  bosom." 

Inquiries  now  are  made  concerning  the  mother 
of  the  young  man,  and  the  story  of  grief  and  wrong 
has  to  be  told  over. 

"  And  the  young  Lamoral  Egmond  ?  " 
"  Not  young  now,  Bessie,  but  grown  to  be  the 
Stadtholder  of  Flanders.  He  lives  in  Brussels,  on 
the  Rue  Bellevue,  where  I  saw  him  not  a  month 
agone,  and  three  of  his  daughters,  in  whom  his  own 
joyous  and  sunny  nature  has  been  copied.  Two 
of  them,  Maria  and  Magdalena,  are  not  far  from 
your  age,  and  their  wit,  mirth,  and  bird-like  songs 
are  the  life  of  Palace  Garden.  I  was  fitting  out  a 
merchant-ship  to  sail  for  the  ports  of  Spain.  The 
times  looked  squally,  and  I  went  to  the  Count  for 
passports  from  the  government,  knowing  that  he 
stood  high  in  the  King's  confidence.  He  was  pro 
fuse  and  generous  as  ever,  and  procured  me  all  I 
wanted.  But  just  as  I  was  leaving  Brussels,  this 
letter  was  put  into  my  hand. 

"'  MY   GOOD  COUSIN:  — 

'"  Put  your  faith  in  no  one  !  The  Prince  knows 
every  name  on  the  Roll  of  Blood  in  the  King's 
bureau.  The  dragon's  jaws  are  wide  open.  See 
that  you  are  not  between  them.  Leave  the  Neth 
erlands.  J.  S.,  KT.> 


THE    ADVENTURER.  203 

"  This  letter  I  knew  to  be  from  my  kinsman,  Sir 
John  Sayer,  page  to  the  Prince  of  Orange.*  How 
much  it  portends,  we  shall  see.  But  my  ship  has 
left  Amsterdam,  and  I  am  here." 

Nimble  John  and  Bessie  are  among  the  old  haunts 
again,  in  the  communings  of  the  most  delicious  of 
friendships,  sitting  once  more  and  looking  over 
into  the  Southern  Yams  of  Devonshire,  now  brown 
and  golden  under  the  colorings  of  an  October  sun, 
when  an  old  face  appears  upon  the  scene. 

"  What  do  you  here,  my  nimble  fellow  ? "  said 
the  new-comer. 

"  Whence  now,  Bullhead?  Anything  in  the 
wind  ?  " 

"  Yes,  a  good  deal,"  he  answered,  with  a  big 
oath. 

"  Softly,  if  you  please.  Swear  in  Dutch,  if  you 
swear  here.  This  is  Miss  Hawkins." 

And  the  burly-headed  fellow  made  a  bow,  and 
both  sputtered  Dutch  for  the  space  of  half  an  hour. 
He  was  a  stout  fellow,  with  a  red  face,  thick  neck, 
and  fist  like  a  sledge-hammer,  which  he  swung  in 
the  air  when  he  wanted  to  emphasize  his  words. 
Bessie  surveyed  him  from  head  to  foot,  with  a  girl's 
wonderment,  till  he  turned  on  his  heel  and  disap 
peared. 

"  Is  that  another  specimen  of  the  tropics  ?  " 

"  That,  Bessie,  is    William  van  der  Mark,  the 

*  The  Sir  John  Sayer  who  was  in  the  employ  of  the  Prince  of 
Orange  probably  belonged  to  the  Colchester  branch,  and  if  so  was 
cousin  of  John  Bourchier  Saycr,  though  we  do  not  know  in  what  de 
gree. 


204  THE  ADVENTURER. 

Dutchman,  He  is  a  kinsman  of  the  Peter  Mark 
who  was  one  of  the  crew  of  the  Jesus,  and  a  very 
bulldog  for  negro-catching.  He  has  left  a  letter 
with  me,  which  he  thinks  important.  I  will  open 
and  read  it  to  you. 

"'  MY  GOOD  COUSIN  :  — 

" '  If  the  Count  of  Egmond  is  to  be  saved,  it  must 
be  done  quickly.  He  is  in  the  dragon's  jaws.  His 
friends  must  snatch  instantly.  A  few  thousand 
men  in  arms  might  do  it.  The  Prince  will  help. 

J.  S.,  KT.'" 

"  And  what,  pray,  can  you  do  ?  "  asked  Bessie. 

"  Mark  says  the  Flemings  will  rise  if  anybody 
will  head  them.  And  that,  at  the  worst,  the  Gueux 
can  arm  in  secret,  and  watch  for  a  chance  of  rescue. 
I  told  him  I  had  a  ship  at  his  service  for  transports. 
He  is  a  reckless  fellow,  and  would  shake  his  fist  at 
a  thousand  thunderbolts." 


CHAPTER    IX. 


"  From  these  may  grow 
A  hundred-fold,  who,  having  learned  thy  way, 
Early  may  fly  the  Babylonian  woe." 


EGMOND  is  indeed  in  the  dragon's  jaws.  Alva  at 
first  affected  to  treat  him  with  confidence,  and  seek 
his  co-operation.  He  is  summoned  to  the  sittings 
of  the  Council ;  all  his  suspicions,  if  any  he  has,  are 
lulled  under  fair  appearances.  He  is  asked  into  a 
private  room,  as  if  for  secret  consultation,  where  he 
is  suddenly  arrested  for  high  treason.  At  first  he  is 
stunned  and  turns  pale ;  but  he  recovers  himself 
and  delivers  up  his  sword,  saying,  "  That  sword 
has  done  the  King  some  service."  He  is  taken  off 
to  Ghent,  under  a  guard  of  four  thousand  Spaniards, 
and  kept  for  trial. 

The  trial  comes  on.  Before  whom  ?  Not  before 
his  peers,  as  he  had  a  right  to  demand,  in  virtue  of 
the  ancient  privileges  of  his  order,  but  before  the 
creatures  of  Alva.  Alva  had  organized  what  he 
called  the  "  Council  of  Troubles,"  but  which  soon 
got  the  name  of  the  Council  of  Blood.  It  consisted 
originally  of  twelve ;  but  such  was  the  work  de 
manded  of  it,  that  all  decent  men  left  it,  and  it 

18 


206  THE    ADVENTURER. 

came  to  consist  of  three,  —  two  of  them  bloodthirsty 
fellows  named  John  di  Vargas  and  Jacob  Hessels, 
and  the  third  a  Spanish  priest.  Hessels  generally 
slept  during  the  consultations,  only  when  a  vote 
was  to  be  taken  he  roused  up  enough  to  belch  out, 
«  To  the  gibbet!  to  the  gibbet!  " 

Before  this  tribunal  Egmond  is  summoned.  He 
denies  its  jurisdiction ;  but  his  plea  is  of  course 
disregarded.  He  is  charged  with  high  treason  on 
ninety  different  counts,  all  of  them  either  groundless 
or  frivolous,  and  he  is  convicted  and  sentenced  to 
die. 

On  the  5th  of  June,  1568,  was  enacted  that  scene 
in  the  Grand  Place  or  Horse- Market  of  Brussels 
which  turned  the  land  pale.  A  scaffold  is  there 
erected,  covered  with  black,  and  around  it  are 
formed  the  Spanish  soldiers  in  serried  ranks.  Out 
side  of  the  soldiery  all  Brussels  has  gathered,  and 
among  them  many  of  the  Gueux,  disguised  and 
secretly  armed.  Through  the  serried  columns  Eg 
mond  is  led  forth  to  execution,  attended  by  the 
Bishop  of  Ypres.  He  shows  a  desire  to  address  the 
people.  "  You  would  excite  an  insurrection,  said 
the  Bishop,  and  plunge  your  friends  in  destruction." 

He  desists,  but  paces  the  scaffold  with  noble 
dignity,  having  on  a  black  Spanish  cloak  fringed 
with  gold  lace.  But  he  cannot  even  yet  believe 
that  he  is  to  die,  and  turning  to  Romeo,  the  officer 
in  attendance,  —  "  Is  there  no  hope  of  pardon  ?  " 

Romeo  shrugs  his  shoulders  and  looks  upon  the 
ground.  Egmond  throws  off  his  cloak,  kneels  and 
prays,  and  gives  his  neck  to  the  fatal  stroke.  The 


THE  ADVENTURER.  207 

blow  fell  on  every  heart,  and  loud  sobs  broke  the 
appalling  silence.  Tears  rolled  down  the  stolid 
faces  of  the  Spanish  soldiers  themselves,  and  even 
Alva,  who  watched  the  execution  from  a  window  of 
the  town-house,  wiped  his  eyes  as  his  victim  died. 
As  the  ranks  of  the  soldiers  began  to  give  way,  the 
people  rushed  in  from  every  side  to  dip  their  hand 
kerchiefs  in  the  blood,  and  take  the  secret  vow  that 
blood  so  noble  should  be  avenged.  In  that  crowd 
two  men  found  themselves  side  by  side.  The 
fierce  countenance  of  Mark  meets  the  pale  face  of 
Sayer,  on  the  spot  stained  with  the  sacrifice.  "  Are 
you  here  then,  my  nimble  fellow  ?  "  said  William 
Mark.  "  I  swear  to  you  that  this  beard  shall  not 
be  cut  till  this  blood  has  been  avenged."  "  It  will  be 
avenged,  Mark,  as  true  as  God  is  looking  down." 

It  was  Egmond's  last  wish  to  die  honorably  for 
his  country.  But  never  could  he  have  died  in  a 
manner  which  was  really  more  propitious  to  her 
cause.  Not  all  the  horrors  of  the  Inquisition,  not 
all  the  blood  which  thus  far  had  flowed,  inspired 
men's  minds  with  so  much  of  detestation,  or  wrought 
within  them  such  mighty  resolves.  Every  drop  of 
the  blood  now  shed  was  to  spring  up  an  invincible 
army. 

As  Sayer  was  retiring  from  the  Grand  Place,  a 
paper  was  put  into  his  hand  from  the  crowd,  hav 
ing  on  it  the  picture  of  a  gibbet,  and  under  it  the 
single  sentence,  "Beware! — your  name  is  before 
the  Council  of  Blood."  It  had  no  signature,  but 
he  knew  the  handwriting.  Nevertheless,  he  passed 
over  into  the  Palace-Garden  Square,  and  down  the 


208  THE    ADVENTURER. 

Rue  Bellevue,  and  paused  before  the  house  whose 
windows  were  hung  with  black.  All  was  silent, 
for  grief  too  deep  for  utterance  turns  the  face  to 
marble.  He  sent  in  these  words :  "  My  vessel  is 
at  Antwerp,  and  at  the  command  of  the  Lady 
Egmond,"  —  and  .received  in  answer,  "  The  Lady 
Egmond  and  family  will  sail  for  Amsterdam  to 
morrow  night." 

To-morrow  night  came,  and  an  aged  woman,  the 
one  who  had  been  the  friend  of  Lady  Anne  and  her 
orphan  boy,  has  come  to  Antwerp,  under  the  pro 
tecting  shadows  that  tenderly  veil  her  grief  from 
human  gaze.  Her  grandchildren  are  with  her, — 
the  children  of  the  murdered  Count.  The  sunshine 
has  left  the  Rue  Bellevue,  the  bird-like  songs  are 
hushed  for  ever,  and  beneath  the  black  mantle  of 
sorrow  these  female  forms,  with  their  young  charge, 
tread  the  deck  of  the  vessel,  which  soon  bears  them 
away  to  Flushing,  and  thence  to  Amsterdam. 

What  a  scene  do  they  leave  behind !  All  Flan 
ders  and  Brabant  have  become  a  charnel-house. 
Besides  Egmond  and  Van  Hoorn,  eighteen  of  the 
Netherland  nobles  were  executed.  Eighteen  hun 
dred  persons  perished  in  a  few  weeks,  and  yet  the 
cry  every  day  by  the  Council  of  Blood  was  for  a 
hundred  victims  more.  Every  one  who  had  either 
joined  the  Gueux,  or  at  any  time  sympathized  with 
them,  was  declared  a  traitor ;  and  that  included 
nearly  every  man  and  woman  in  the  Netherlands. 
All  the  ways  leading  to  Brussels  and  the  principal 
cities  were  lined  with  gibbets ;  yea,  the  trees  were 
loaded  with  corpses,  and  the  living  walked  through 


THE    ADVENTURER.  209 

the  fetid  avenues  of  the  dead.  Alva  declared  that 
the  whole  land  should  be  a  desert  rather  than  a 
single  heretic  remain  in  it.  The  very  men  who 
had  brought  in  the  Inquisition  fell  victims  to  it, 
several  being  put  to  death  on  the  charge  of  remiss- 
ness,  and  none  but  Alva's  bloodhounds  themselves 
were  safe.  The  Gueux,  who  lurked  in  all  the 
provinces,  were  hunted  out  with  tenfold  ferocity. 
Thousands  of  them  escaped  out  of  the  dragon's 
jaws,  and  crowded  into  the  southern  towns  of  Eng 
land,  —  Maidstone  and  Canterbury  were  filled  with 
them.  Others  lived  upon  the  sea,  —  a  terror  to  all 
Spaniards  upon  the  deep,  —  and  acquired  the  name 
of  the  "  Water  Gueux."  So  the  country  was  emp 
tied  of  its  best  population  as  the  crimson  billows 
swept  over  it. 

Orange  had  retired  to  Germany  in  season  to 
save  his  life.  When  Granvelle  heard  that  Alva  had 
the  principal  of  the  nobles  in  his  power,  he  asked 
quickly,  "  Has  he  caught  the  Taciturn  ?  "  and  on 
being  answered  in  the  negative,  "  Ah !  then,"  he  re 
plied,  "if  he  is  not  in  the  net,  Alva  has  caught 
nothing." 

Sayer  landed  his  precious  freight  in  Amsterdam, 
at  the  ancestral  mansion  of  the  Counts  of  Egmond. 
He  belonged  to  the  Gueux ;  the  Council  of  Blood 
was  scenting  his  track,  but  in  a  few  days  his  vessel 
was  safe  anchored  in  the  Catwater. 


18* 


CHAPTER    X. 


"  The  devil,  like  an  expert  wrestler,  usually  gives  a  man  a  lift  be 
fore  he  gives  him  a  throw."  —  SOUTH. 


IF  we  were  writing  a  novel,  we  suppose  we 
ought  to  begin  with  love,  proceed  through  fearful 
labyrinths,  and  end  at  last  with  marriage.  But  we 
trust  the  reader  has  found  out  by  this  time  that  we 
are  writing  truth  instead  of  fiction,  simply  because 
the  former  is  the  more  marvellous  of  the  two.  We 
only  reserve  to  ourselves  a  little  background,  and  a 
small  margin  of  romance,  in  order  that  the  truth 
may  look  out  in  bolder  relief  in  front. 

Sayer  is  in  Plymouth,  safe  from  the  scent  of  the 
Spanish  hounds,  though  looking  back  with  a  bleed 
ing  heart  to  the  horrible  work  of  the  Inquisition  in 
his  adopted  country.  The  name  of  Gueux,  as 
sumed  at  first  as  a  title  of  glory,  has  come,  indeed, 
to  express  again  what  its  name  properly  imports. 
Hundreds  of  thousands,  who  once  gloried  in  the 
name,  are  now  driven  to  starve  in  woods  and 
hiding-places,  or  to  hang  on  trees  and  gibbets ;  to 
live  in,  wild  adventure  on  the  deep,  or  to  beg  for 
home  and  shelter  in  foreign  lands.  Happily  for  our 
adventurer,  he  has  escaped,  with  his  vessel  and  a 


THE    ADVENTURER.  211 

good  share  of  his  property,  and  is  safe  in  his  old 
asylum,  which  stands  on  the  promontory  that  over 
looks  Plymouth  Bay. 

There  is  no  news  from  Captain  Hawkins,  though 
the  month  of  January,  1569,  has  set  in.  Any  allu 
sion  to  the  voyage  causes  Mrs.  Hawkins  to  sigh, 
and  ejaculate  a  prayer.  A  sail  at  length  is  beating 
up  the  bay,  before  a  stiff  northern  gale.  But  it  is 
not  the  Jesus  of  Lubep.  It  is  the  Minion,  and  she 
looks  shattered  and  forlorn  enough;  and  as  she 
comes  into  the  Catwater,  about  twenty  human  be 
ings,  quite  as  shattered  and  forlorn,  crawl  out  of 
her.  And  Captain  Hawkins  is  among  them.  He 
reels  and  totters,  but  his  foot  has  scarcely  touched 
land  before  his  flamingo  is  at  his  side.  Pale  and 
haggard,  he  comes  up  to  the  house,  leaning  on  her 
shoulder,  and  breathing  hard  and  short,  and  she 
hands  him  to  the  great  arm-chair,  and  falls  upon 
his  neck  with  kisses.  The  strong  man  is  bowed 
down,  and  weeps  like  a  child  in  his  daughter's  arms. 
Mrs.  Hawkins  is  full  of  tenderness,  but  cannot  help 
putting  in  hints  about  her  presentiments,  and  about 
the  advice  that  she  gave ;  but  an  imploring  look 
from  Bessie,  which  seems  to  say,  "  Not  now, 
mother,  —  pray  don't,"  prevents  all  this,  and  there 
is  nothing  but  condolence  and  sympathy  for  the 
broken  man.  As  Nimble  John  appears  before  his 
old  master,  a  faint  smile  plays  over  his  master's 
sallow  face,  while  he  takes  the  hand  into  his  feeble 
grasp,  and  groans  aloud :  "  O  my  good  fellow, 
never  cease  to  thank  God  for  the  misery  you  have 
been  preserved  from  !  " 


212  THE    ADVENTURER. 

And  then  followed  the  tale  of  woe.  "  Ah,  good- 
wife  Hawkins,  you  were  a  prophet,  and  I  should 
have  heard  to  ye.  The  Jesus  gone  down  to  the 
bottom,  with  most  of  her  men,  riddled  with  Span 
ish  shot !  Two  thirds  of  the  crew  dead  either  from 
pirates  or  starvation,  and  the  rest  but  just  alive ! " 

"  Then  you  have  been  boarded  by  pirates,"  said 
Mrs.  Hawkins. 

"  Yes,  by  the  Don-devils  and  the  Furicanos. 
But,"  he  added,  with  a  ghastly  smile,  "  I  must  give 

*  The  last  "  troublesome  voyage  "  made  by  the  Jesus  of  Lubec, 
the  Minion,  and  four  other  ships,  in  the  years  1567  -  8,  ended  in  sig 
nal  disaster,  and  verified  all  Mrs.  Hawkins's  predictions  and  presenti 
ments.  Hawkins  and  his  men  took  between  four  and  five  hundred 
negroes  from  the  coast  of  Guinea,  sailed  with  them  to  the  "West 
Indies,  and  there  disposed  of  them.  But  passing  by  the  west  end  of 
Cuba  towards  the  coast  of  Florida,  they  encountered  the  "Furicanos," 
which  shattered  the  fleet,  and  they  put  into  the  Spanish  port  of  St. 
John  de  Ulloa,  to  refit.  Soon  after,  a  Spanish  fleet  of  thirteen  great 
ships  hove  in  sight,  and  came  into  the  harbor.  Captain  Hawkins 
made  with  them  a  treaty  of  amity,  which  the  faithless  Spaniards  only 
used  as  a  snare.  When  matters  Avere  ripe  for  an  outbreak,  the  viceroy 
blew  a  trumpet,  and,  as  Hawkins  relates,  "  Of  all  sides  they  set  upon 
us.  Then  all  the  ordinance  upon  the  ilande  was  in  the  Spaniardes 
handes,  which  did  us  so  great  annoyance  that  it  cut  all  the  mastes  and 
yardes  of  the  Jesus  and  sunke  our  small  shippes."  The  upshot  was, 
that  only  the  Minion,  and  a  small  bark  called  the  Judith,  escaped. 
Nearly  all  the  men  were  either  massacred  by  the  Spaniards  or  per 
ished  miserably  afterwards.  This  remnant  of  the  fleet  came  into  the 
harbor  of  Cornwall,  January  20,  1569,  "lean,  rent,  and  beggared," 
both  by  Spanish  shot  and  the  strumpet  wind.  Captain  Hawkins 
closes  his  melancholy  narrative  in  these  words  :  "  If  all  the  miseries 
and  troubelsome  affaires  of  this  sorrowfull  voyage  should  be  perfectly 
and  thoroughly  written,  there  should  need  a  painfull  man  with  his 
pen,  and  as  great  a  time  as  he  that  wrote  the  lives  and  deathes  of  the 
Martyrs."  And  so  ended  Captain  Hawkins's  last  missionary  voyage 
for  the  conversion  of  Africa  1  See  Hakluyt,  Vol.  III.  pp.  618-623. 


THE    ADVENTURER.  213 

over  the  conversion  of  the  heathen  to  the  Archbishop 
of  Canterbury." 

Under  such  nursing  as  he  had,  Captain  Hawkins 
was  not  long  in  rounding  out  to  his  ancient  dimen 
sions,  and  recovering  from  the  collapse  of  starva 
tion.  He  is  sitting  in  his  chair,  with  Bessie  in  his 
lap,  who  is  combing  out  the  knots  and  tangles  of 
his  shaggy  beard,  and  smoothing  back  his  long  hair 
from  his  temples,  till  she  has  made  him  look  almost 
as  apostolic  as  he  claimed  to  be. 

"  I  guess  you  won't  be  wicked  any  more,  nor  con 
vert  any  more  of  those  poor  Sapies,  as  you  call  it." 

"  Nay,  old  Jack  Hawkins  will  mind  his  little 
birdy,  for  the  Lord  has  touched  him  with  his  finger. 
Old  Jack  must  reef  his  sails  a  little,"  and  a  tear  was 
starting  in  his  eye. 

"Now  will  you  mind  your  birdy,  though?"  and 
she  held  his  head  between  her  hands,  arid  looked 
with  strange  earnestness  into  his  face,  as  if  explor 
ing  his  honesty. 

«  Yea,  —  yea.  Old  Jack  has  but  just  escaped  the 
whirlpools  that  well-nigh  had  gulped  him  down. 
Yea,  the  Lord  has  lifted  him  up  high  and  let  him 
drop  upon  the  rocks,  and  stove  him  all  in,  and  let 
all  the  billows  come  over  him,  and  he  had  clean 
gone  down,  if  his  birdy  hadn't  hovered  over  the 
wave  like  a  dove  of  mercy.  Old  Jack  will  do  all 
she  bids  him,  else  by  and  by  she  '11  be  flitting  up 
to  the  skies,  and  leave  him  behind,  away  out  of 
sight.  Say  what  you  will,  and  old  Jack  Hawkins 
won't  cry  you  nay." 

"  And  did  you  know  your  birdy  was  to  flit  away, 


214  THE  ADVENTURER. 

and  leave  her  father  with  nobody  to  fly  to  his  heart, 
when  he  comes  home  half  killed  with  Furicanos  and 
Spaniards  ?  "  And  she  crept  into  his  great  bosom 
and  sobbed. 

"  What  a'  murrain !  But  ye  ar'  n't  sick  !  ye  're  a 
red  rose  that'll  bloom  out  this  many  a  long  day 
after  poor  old  Jack  Hawkins  lies  with  a  thousand 
fathom  of  ocean  upon  his  breast.  Nay,  nay;  we 
won't  call  ye  a  bird  that's  for  flitting  up  into  the 
blue  skies.  And  don't  then  be  taking  on  for  any 
such  fantasy." 

"  Nay,  but  Nimble  John  has  taken  me  and  put 
me  into  his  heart,  and  I'm  to  go  off  with  him 
among  Spaniards  and  Inquisitions,  and  be  his  omen 
of  mercy,  he  says ;  and  now  what  will  you  do  when 
you  come  home  wrecked  and  a-weary  ?  " 

"  But  Nimble  John  won't  do  any  such  thing  with 
my  silly  girl.  He  won't  take  her  among  Spaniards 
without  asking  me,  nor  steal  her  from  her  dear  old 
father!" 

"  Nay,  Johnny  won't  do  that,  but  he  will  ask 
you,  and  you  won't  cry  him  nay." 

The  great  breast  on  which  the  ocean  storms  had 
beat  for  so  many  years  heaves  convulsively,  and 
the  iron  features  are  wet  with  the  trickling  rain. 
Nimble  John,  at  length,  is  called  into  the  room. 
"Take  her,  —  take  her,  my  faithful  fellow!  Old 
Jack  ha'  n't  the  hardness  of  heart  to  keep  her  from 
ye.  She  '11  be  as  sweet  a  dove  to  ye  as  ever  hov 
ered  over  the  path  of  a  weary  mortal.  Old  Jack 
must  take  her  from  him,  and  sail  on  without  her 
music.  But  know,  my  good  fellow,  by  what  he 
gives,  how  much  he  loves." 


THE    ADVENTtJRER.  215 

A  few  days  have  passed,  and  then  our  flamingo, 
"  for  better,  for  worse,  for  richer,  for  poorer,  in  sick 
ness  and  in  health,  to  love  and  to  cherish  till  death," 
is  nestling  to  the  breast  of  Nimble  John.  Ah,  you 
dear  little  bird!  Are  you  thinking  what  all  that 
means?  and  that  the  lightnings  and  the  hail 
storms  and  the  fire-showers  will  come,  when  even 
that  faithful  breast  you  cling  to  will  be  small  pro 
tection  ?  Look  over  into  the  Netherlands  ! 


CHAPTER    XI. 


"Peasant.  —  Pray,  Philosopher,  will  you  resolve  me  the  thunder  ? 

"  Phil.  —  Thunders  are  nothing  else  but  the  blows  and  thumps  given 
by  the  fires  beating  hard  upon  the  clouds;  and  therefore  presently 
the  fiery  chinks  and  rifts  of  those  clouds  do  glitter  and  shine.  Possi 
ble  it  is  also  that  the  breath  and  wind  elevated  from  the  earth,  being 
repelled  backe,  and  kept  down  by  the  starres,  and  so  held  in  and  re 
strained  within  a  cloud,  may  thunder,  whiles  nature  choketh  the  rum 
bling  sound  all  the  while  it  striveth  and  quarrclleth ;  but  sendeth  forth 
a  cracke  when  it  breaketh  out,  as  we  see  in  a  bladder  puffed  with 
wind. 

"  Peasant.  — I  dislike  that  cloud  coming  up  in  the  north." 

Philosophical  Transactions  Revised. 


THE  Netherlands  were  crushed  and  subdued. 
Alva  had  put  garrisons  into  all  the  principal  cities, 
those  of  Holland  included,  and  the  reign  of  terror 
and  carnage  was  complete.  Orange  and  his  brother, 
Louis  of  Nassau,  had  raised  armies,  crossed  over 
from  Germany,  and  offered  resistance.  But  Orange 
in  the  field  was  no  match  for  Alva.  His  military 
skill  by  no  means  corresponded  to  his  statesmanlike 
abilities,  and  his  troops  all  melted  away  without  ac 
complishing  anything  of  moment.  Alva  has  com 
pleted  his  circuit  of  confiscations  and  murders,  and 
has  come  to  Antwerp  in  triumph.  There  he  orders 
a  brazen  statue  of  himself  to  be  cast,  and  set  up  in 


THE    ADVENTURER.  217 

the  market-place,  with  an  inscription  on  it  signify 
ing  that  the  rebels  were  subdued.  Two  heads  lay 
at  its  feet,  representing,  some  thought,  those  of  the 
Counts  Egmond  and  Hoorn.  "  The  heads  grin  hor 
ribly,"  said  the  Duke  of  Aarschot  to  Aiva,  as  they 
were  both  surveying  the  statue  ;  "  they  will  take  sig 
nal  vengeance  if  they  ever  rise  again."  Prophetic 
words ! 

Alva's  troops  must  be  supported,  and  for  this 
heavy  taxes  must  be  levied  upon  the  States.  The 
States  with  some  exceptions  comply.  Among  these 
exceptions  are  Utrecht  and  the  city  of  Brussels. 
He  orders  troops  into  Utrecht  to  harass  the  people, 
and  he  thinks  Brussels  will  be  overawed  into  com 
pliance  by  his  immediate  presence  and  his  hateful 
garrison.  But  the  citizens  of  Brussels  offer  that 
passive  resistance  which  is  the  hardest  for  tyrants 
to  overcome.  They  cease  their  traffic.  The  shops 
are  all  shut,  the  inns  are  closed;  the  brewers  will 
not  brew,  the  bakers  will  not  bake,  and  the  garrison 
cannot  be  supplied  with  provisions.  Then  Alva 
determines  to  hang  seventy  of  the  principal  shop 
keepers  before  their  own  doors,  and  ladders  and 
ropes  are  already  prepared  for  the  purpose.  But 
before  the  hour  comes,  Alva  hears  news  that  makes 
him  pause ! 

The  Gueux  had  been  driven  from  the  ports  of 
Sweden  and  Denmark,  and  England  was  the  only 
country  that  gave  them  shelter.  In  her  southern 
ports  their  vessels  had  sought  a  refuge  from  the 
Spanish  rage.  Alva  remonstrates  with  Elizabeth 
against  her  harboring  heretics  and  rebels,  and  de- 

19 


218  THE    ADVENTURER. 

mands  of  her  that  they  be  driven  from  her  domin 
ions.  Elizabeth  is  not  now  in  a  condition  to  break 
with  Philip,  and  complies.  She  issues  her  procla 
mation,  and  commands  the  Gueux  to  leave  the 
ports  of  England.  Alva  in  his  blind  fury  does  not 
know  the  thunderbolt  he  is  forging  for  his  own 
head. 

Sayer  was  watching  anxiously  the  progress  of 
events,  when  the  mandate  came  which  would  eject 
both  himself  and  vessel  from  the  Catwater.  Whith 
er  ?  The  last  refuge  in  Europe  was  now  denied 
the  Gueux  ;  not  a  foot  of  solid  land  was  left  for  the 
soles  of  their  feet  to  touch  upon,  and  they  had  only 
to  betake  themselves  to  the  open  sea  and  the  God 
of  nature.  At  the  time  of  the  Queen's  proclama 
tion,  Sayer  had  resided  three  years  in  Plymouth, 
amid  his  own  household,  made  bright  with  the  love- 
light  of  Bessie,  and  musical  with  her  song.  Another 
Johnny  Bourchier  is  just  peeping  into  this  trouble 
some  world ;  a  little  fellow  of  two  summers,  who 
has  stolen  some  of  the  rose,  though  none  of  the 
laughter,  out  of  her  cheek,  and  in  that  little  paradise 
of  wedded  love  is  all  unconscious  of  the  wicked 
ness  outside.  Sayer,  on  hearing  of  the  proclama 
tion,  goes  up  to  the  old  mansion  by  the  Catwater, 
leaving  his  flamingo  and  her  little  charge  at  bo- 
peep  with  each  other. 

"  I  am  to  leave  you,  my  old  commander,  and  you, 
my  best  of  mothers,  and  I  must  put  my  birdies  un 
der  your  wing  for  a  little  space.  I  may  fall  among 
the  Spaniards,  and  I  will  leave  these  behind  just 


THE    ADVENTURER.  219 

"  What !  are  you  going  to  fall  single-handed  up 
on  the  Don-devils  ?  Don't  fire  your  arquebuse  too 
quick,  man ! " 

"  Nay,  my  old  commander,  but  I  must  clear  your 
port,  and  I  '11  take  the  best  aim  I  can,  when  time 
and  opportunity  come." 

Three  days  more,  and  he  is  sailing  out  of  the 
harbor.  There  are  sorrows  and  forebodings  in  all 
hearts  but  little  Johnny's,  who  "  dances  up  high " 
in  his  mother's  arms  as  she  looks  her  last.  Sayer 
puts  on  his  bravest  look,  for  men  are  wanted  now, 
and  sails  out  of  the  bay  and  out  of  sight,  and  dis 
appears  from  our  story  at  present.  May  we  meet 
him  again ! 

Hunted  out  from  their  last  places  of  refuge,  the 
Gueux  are  mustering  and  preparing  to  quit  the  har 
bors  of  England.  Dover  is  their  place  of  rendezvous, 
and  there  twenty-four  ships  have  come  together  laden 
with  death,  and  with  men  ready  to  brave  anything 
in  the  last  struggle  for  a  final  foothold  upon  God's 
earth.  What  desperate-looking  fellows  they  are ! 
They  have  encountered  all  the  winds  of  heaven,  and 
all  the  storms  of  the  deep  ;  they  have  sailed  a  thou 
sand  times  into  the  throat  of  destruction  in  the 
chase  after  Spanish  galleons  and  transports  ;  their 
faces  are  scarred  and  seamed,  and  frightful  to  be 
hold  ;  one  has  lost  an  arm,  another  a  leg,  and  an 
other  an  eye ;  but  halt  and  maimed  as  they  are,  they 
are  thirsting  for  revenge,  and  doubly  nerved  to  get 
it.  Their  hatred  of  Spaniards  amounts  to  a  frenzy, 
but  they  are  under  admirable  and  exact  discipline, 
and  their  red-hot  passions  kept  under  for  occasion. 


220  THE    ADVENTURER. 

On  the  cap  of  each  is  a  silver  crescent,  bearing  the 
motto,  "  Rather  Turk  than  Pope."  Such  is  the 
force  which  Alva  has  driven  together,  and  he  de 
mands  of  Elizabeth  that  they  shall  quit  England. 
They  will  quit  undoubtedly !  Already  they  are  lying 
off  Dover,  and  lowering  down  upon  the  Netherlands 
more  grim  than  the  ferryman  of  hell.  And  the 
fiercest  and  grimmest  among  them  is  in  command. 
It  is  WILLIAM  VAN  DER  MARK,  his  hair  and  beard 
uncut  for  four  years,  —  he  who  took  the  vows  of 
vengeance  over  the  smoking  blood  of  Egmond,  and 
who  is  now  the  Admiral  of  the  "  Water  Gueux." 

We  trust  the  reader  is  not  one  of  those  foolish 
people  who  read  histories  and  historical  novels  with 
out  a  good  map  before  him.  Please  then  look  down 
upon  the  little,  devoted  Netherlands,  and  search 
out  the  towns  of  Briel  and  Flushing.  The  first 
stands  at  the  mouth  of  the  Meuse,  and  commands 
its  navigation ;  the  second  is  on  an  island  near  the 
mouth  of  the  Scheldt,  and  commands  the  naviga 
tion  of  that.  These  are  the  two  principal  rivers  that 
drain  the  Netherlands.  So  that,  even  if  you  have 
not  much  of  military  genius,  which  we  hope  is  .the 
case,  you  may  still  see  that  these  two  seaports  are 
the  keys  of  the  country,  and  that  he  who  com 
mands  these,  lets  in  destruction  or  keeps  it  out  at 
pleasure. 

The  «  Water  Gueux"  have  left  Dover,  with  Mark 
at  their  head ;  he  who  swore  terribly  in  Flanders, 
and  who  swears  terribly  yet.  They  sailed  for  the 
island  of  Texel,  at  the  entrance  of  the  Zuyder  Zee, 
but  stress  of  weather  has  diverted  them,  and  brought 


THE    ADVENTURER.  221 

them  around  into  the  Meuse,  and  they  suddenly  ap 
pear  before  Briel.  The  Spanish  troops  have  been 
removed  into  Utrecht  to  harass  that  province,  and 
so  Mark  seizes  upon  Briel,  in  the  name  of  the 
Prince  of  Orange ;  and  within  twenty-four  hours, 
thirteen  Romish  priests  and  monks  are  hanging 
upon  gibbets,  and  the  Romish  churches  are  stripped, 
and  the  images  smashed  in  pieces.  This  news 
comes  to  Alva  at  Brussels,  just  as  he  has  got  his 
ropes  ready  to  hang  the  seventy  shopkeepers ;  but 
he  stops  suddenly.  He  has  something  else  to  do. 

Flushing  is  next  surprised  arid  surrenders,  and 
the  Gueux  take  possession.  Then  one  town  after 
another  in  Holland  raises  the  standard  of  revolt 
against  Alva.  The  Spanish  garrisons  have  been 
enfeebled,  because  the  soldiers  are  wanted  to  crush 
Utrecht ;  Mark  is  on  the  watch,  and  sends  in  sup 
plies  and  succors  to  the  insurgents,  and  within  three 
months  from  the  capture  of  Briel  not  a  single  town 
in  Holland,  with  the  exception  of  Amsterdam,  re 
mains  in  subjection  to  Alva  and  his  governor. 
The  Gueux  have  come  with  a  vengeance ;  they 
have  liberated  Holland  from  the  garrisons ;  the  little 
state  stands  erect  and  defiant  to  the  Spaniard,  and 
through  all  her  towns  the  Orange  flag  is  floating 
on  the  walls.  Alva  himself  begins  to  quail.  He 
asks  the  deputies  of  Holland  to  assemble,  and  offers 
to  remit  the  tax.  They  do  assemble,  not  in  the 
spirit  which  he  expected,  but  to  assert  their  free 
dom,  arid  throw  off  the  dominion  of  Spain. 

But  a  conflict  is  to  come.  As  soon  as  Alva  can 
settle  affairs  in  the  Catholic  Netherlands,  he  rein- 


222  THE    ADVENTURER. 

forces  his  veterans  to  subdue  once  more  the  rebel 
lious  province.  Sneering  at  the  peaceful  pursuits 
of  the  agricultural  Hollanders,  he  expects  soon  to 
crush  them  again,  and  swears  he  will  "  smother 
them  in  their  own  butter." 

Before  we  see  the  little  state  lie  torn  and  bleed- 
ing  under  the  tusks  of  the  boar,  let  us  look  at  it 
one  moment  as  it  is  described  by  a  contemporary 
writer,  who  resided  among  its  people  just  before  the 
troubles  began.  Guicciardini,  who  sailed  over  its 
canals,  lined  with  rows  of  willows  and  industrious 
windmills,  and  looked  down  into  its  polders,  and 
had  intercourse  with  its  inhabitants  in  town  and 
country,  says:  "  This  little  -corner  of  the  earth 
abounds  with  people,  with  riches  and  virtue,  and 
everything  that  the  heart  of  man  can  desire.  Not 
the  most  minute  portion  of  the  land  is  without  its 
production ;  even  the  sand-hills  afford  food  and  shel 
ter  to  vast  quantities  of  rabbits,  esteemed  for  their 
delicate  flavor ;  and  on  every  creek  of  the  sea  are 
to  be  found  incredible  numbers  of  water-fowl  and 
their  eggs,  both  of  which  form  a  valuable  article  of 
export  to  the  Belgic  provinces."  The  men  are  de 
scribed  'as  "  brave,  active,  and  industrious,  devoted 
to  freedom,  but  faithful  and  obedient  subjects." 
They  are  also  "  humane,  benevolent,  and  affable, 
lively  and  facetious,  but  sometimes  rather  licentious 
in  their  jests  "  ;  they  are  "  upright  and  sincere,"  but 
addicted  to  two  vices,  covetousness  and  drunken 
ness.  They  are  fond  of  learning  and  the  arts,  and 
have  large  numbers  of  scientific  men,  and  even  the 
peasantry  "  can  read  and  write  well."  The  women 


THE    ADVENTURER.  223 

"  have  extraordinary  beauty  of  shape  and  counte 
nance,"  are  remarkable  for  their  chastity  and  pu 
rity,  but  are  in  no  degree  "  timid,  shy,  or  reserved." 
They  "  walk  and  travel  alone  in  confidence  and 
security  "  ;  they  "  mingle  in  all  the  active  business 
of  life,  such  as  buying  and  selling,"  which,  the  au 
thor  observes,  with  great  want  of  gallantry,  "  must 
increase  their  natural  love  of  domineering  and  grum 
bling,  and  there  can  be  no  doubt  makes  them  impe 
rious  and  capricious."  * 

Such  are  the  peaceful  Hollanders  ;  but  Alva 
will  probably  find  it  difficult  to  "  smother  "  them. 
Their  little  strip  of  land  measures  some  seventy- 
five  miles  by  thirty,  and  could  be  laid  snugly  away 
in  the  State  of  Connecticut,  with  considerable  room 
to  spare.  Philip  is  to  force  the  Inquisition  upon 
them,  and  for  this  purpose  he  has  the  strength  of 
Italy,  Germany,  and  Spain,  the  Southern  or  Catho 
lic  Netherlands,  the  most  experienced  commander 
of  the  age,  and  all  the  gold  of  Spanish  America  to 
carry  on  the  war.  Fearful  odds!  —  but  God  is 
looking  on. 

*  Quoted  by  Davies,  Vol.  I.  pp.  486,  487. 


CHAPTER    XII. 


"  Nature  provides  exceptions  to  every  rule.     She  sends  women  to 
battle,  and  sets  Hercules  spinning."  —  MARGARET  FULLER. 


THE  troops  of  Alva  are  on  their  march  towards 
the  devoted  province,  and  wherever  they  have  passed 
there  is  a  track  of  carnage  and  desolation.  They 
have  pillaged  Zutphen,  and  now  they  are  coming 
into  Utrecht  to  the  town  of  Naarden,  close  on  the 
borders  of  Holland.  Naarden  surrenders,  on  the 
condition  that  the  lives  and  property  of  all  the  in 
habitants  shall  be  preserved,  and  that  they  shall 
take  a  new  oath  to  the  King  of  Spain.  The 
burghers  are  summoned  to  the  guild-hall  to  take  the 
oath,  and  the  town  overflows  with  Spanish  soldiers. 
The  hall  is  filled  with  the  unarmed  citizens,  while 
the  soldiers  stand  in  front,  headed  by  a  priest,  who 
turns  suddenly  towards  the  people,  and  bids  them 
prepare  for  death.  Then  the  muskets  are  levelled 
towards  the  defenceless  multitude,  and  at  a  signal 
given  five  hundred  lie  dead  on  the  floor  of  the  guild 
hall,  which  is  immediately  set  on  fire,  and  wrapped 
in  flames.  And  then  follows  a  scene  of  slaughter 
in  all  the  streets,  compared  with  which  the  policy 
of  Herod  were  mild  and  humane  ;  all  of  which 


THE    ADVENTURER.  225 

meets  with  the  highest  approbation  of  Alva.  Hol 
land  looks  on  aghast,  and  sees  in  Naarden  her  own 
portending  doom ;  for  the  way  is  now  clear,  and 
the  butchers  march  through  Amsterdam,  and  invest 
the  city  of  Haarlem. 

The  citizens  waver,  and  hesitate  at  first  whether 
to  make  a  defence.  They  see  the  weakness  of  their 
fortifications,  and  the  numbers  and  discipline  of  the 
enemy,  whose  hands  are  yet  reeking  with  the  blood 
of  Naarden;  and  the  government  of  Haarlem  sends 
secretly  to  make  terms  with  the  Spaniards.  But 
one  Wybald  van  Ripperda  stands  up,  and  with 
his  rousing  eloquence  touches  every  chord  of  hero 
ism  ;  the  people  answer  everywhere  with  a  shout  of 
enthusiasm,  and  they  arm  for  the  defence  of  their 
town. 

A  memorable  siege  follows,  in  which  the  uncon 
querable  spirit  of  the  Hollanders  begins  to  appear. 
They  build  an  inner  wall,  higher  and  stronger  than 
the  old  one,  and  for  this  purpose  men,  women,  and 
children  join  in  the  work.  There  is  a  lady  of  noble 
blood,  Catharine  Hasselar,  who  forms  a  regiment  of 
three  hundred  women,  and  they  not  only  use  the 
pick-axe  and  spade,  but  with  the  sword  and  musket 
they  deal  death  to  the  enemy  from  the  top  of  the 
walls.  These  probably  are  some  of  the  "  impe 
rious"  women  whom  Guicciardini  speaks  of,  but 
who  have  learned  to  do  something  a  good  deal  more 
practical  than  "  grumbling,"  and  who  have  no  idea 
of  being  smothered  in  their  own  butter.  For  seven 
long  months  do  the  citizens  of  Haarlem  hold  out 
against  the  besiegers,  in  hope  of  succor  from  the 


226  THE    ADVENTURER. 

Prince  of  Orange.  The  besiegers  try  the  effect  of 
cruelty  and  intimidation,  and  hang  their  prisoners 
in  sight  of  the  town.  Whereupon  a  row  of  gibbets 
appears  on  the  walls,  from  which  an  equal  number 
of  Spanish  prisoners  dangle  in  the  air.  It  is  un 
christian  retaliation,  but  it  is  done.  The  besieg 
ers  throw  over  the  wall  into  the  city  the  head  of 
one  Philip  King,  whom  they  have  taken  prisoner 
in  an  unsuccessful  attempt  to  relieve  the  city ;  and 
on  it  is  this  inscription  of  cruel  irony :  "  This  is 
the  King  who  should  have  relieved  Haarlem." 
They  are  answered  with  irony  quite  as  sharp  and 
cutting.  Eleven  barrels  come  rolling  down  from 
the  walls  towards  the  enemy's  camp,  bearing  the 
inscription :  "  This  is  the  tithe,  with  interest,  for 
the  payment  of  which  Alva  has  besieged  Haarlem." 
They  open  the  barrels,  and  find  them  full  of  decapi 
tated  Spaniards.  Unchristian  retaliation  again ;  but 
we  cannot  help  it,  for  it  was  done.  For  seven  long 
months  this  siege  and  defence  are  carried  on,  but 
no  relief  comes  to  the  doomed  city.  It  falls  at  last, 
but  not  till  it  has  cost  the  lives  of  twelve  thousand 
Spaniards.  Ye  could  conquer  the  Inquisitors,  but 
ye  could  not  conquer  starvation  and  pestilence,  not 
the  three  hundred  brave  women  even,  with  the  no 
ble  Lady  Catharine  at  your  head.  It  capitulates, 
and  the  hateful  Spanish  garrison  comes  in  with  the 
usual  bad  faith  and  cruelty  which  render  the  Span 
ish  name  a  stench  in  our  nostrils. 

And  now  comes  the  hour  of  despair  to  the  little, 
devoted  commonwealth.  What  can  she  do  before 
the  invading  foe  ?  Her  army  is  no  match  in  the 


THE    ADVENTURER.  227 

open  field  for  the  veterans  of  Alva,  and  the  dispirit 
ed  exiles  who  had  returned  to  their  country  prepare 
for  a  second  hight,  and  all  the  towns  expect,  in 
mute  and  gloomy  despondency,  to  share  the  fate  of 
Haarlem.  Alva  says,  if  they  do  not  submit,  he  will 
exterminate  them  with  fire  and  sword,  and  give  the 
land  to  strangers. 

Now  then  the  powerful  voice  of  Orange  is  heard, 
rousing  all  the  energy  of  the  little  commonwealth, 
and  touching  that  deep  chord  of  religious  enthu 
siasm  which  he  knows  how  to  touch  so  well.  "  The 
King  of  kings,"  says  he,  "  is  our  ally,  and  in  him 
will  we  put  our  trust.  Is  it  because  the  misfortunes 
to  which  all  men  are  subject  have  fallen  upon  you, 
that  manly  courage  has  fled  entirely  from  your 
hearts  ?  If  God  has  done  what  it  pleased  him  with 
Haarlem,  is  it  therefore  that  his  arm  is  shortened  ? 
Has  he  forsaken  his  Church,  that  it  should  deny 
him  ?  Cast  away  from  you  all  idle  fears  !  Rouse 
within  yourselves  the  courage  of  former  days  !  Do 
your  duty,  and  the  blessing  of  God  shall  be  yours ! " 

Ail  murmurs  cease;  new  fire  rolls  through  all  the 
veins  of  the  little  state  ;  the  towns  and  cities  repair 
their  fortifications;  the  finances  are  replenished;  the 
army  is  put  on  a  better  footing,  and  they  wait  still, 
but  determined  and  defiant,  before  the  invaders. 

The  town  of  Alkmaar  comes  next  in  turn.  Alva 
has  sent  his  son,  Don  Frederick,  to  lay  siege  to  it,  at 
the  head  of  16,000  men.  Look  on  the  map  and 
see  it,  lying  up  north  of  Haarlem  some  eighteen 
miles,  amid  meadows  of  sweet  clover  and  fat  kine, 
where  Alva  will  find  plenty  of  butter ;  a  town  well 


228  THE    ADVENTURER. 

fortified,  with  the  canals  flowing  through  it  and  all 
around  it,  shaded  with  beautiful  trees.  Thirteen 
hundred  armed  burghers  have  mustered  upon  its 
walls,  with  eight  hundred  soldiers,  to  welcome  the 
invaders.  And  is  this  all  ye  have,  ye  gallant  few,  to 
oppose  to  Alva's  sixteen  thousand  human  bulldogs  ? 
No,  it  is  not  all.  The  spirit  of  those  "  imperious  " 
women  is  up  again.  Companies  of  women,  and 
girls  without  any  consumptive  symptoms,  help  drive 
back  the  onslaughts  of  the  Spaniards,  even  where 
the  fight  is  the  thickest  and  the  hottest.  The  wife 
and  daughters  of  Mynheer  hand  to  him  the  stones 
and  burning  missiles  as  fast  as  he  can  use  them, 
and  say  to  him,  "  Ply  them  surely  and  plumply  on 
the  pate  of  the  Spaniard,  or  else  make  way  for  us." 
Plump  and  sure  they  fly,  till  not  a  Spaniard  dares 
lift  his  pate  above  his  bulwarks,  or  if  he  does,  he 
gets  it  cracked  in  two.  But  a  month  has  gone  ; 
no  reinforcements  can  be  conveyed  into  the  town 
through  Don  Frederick's  thick  line  of  forts,  and  the 
provisions  begin  to  fail.  "  What  can  we  do  now?" 
cry  the  despairing  burghers ;  "  for  neither  men  nor 
girls  can  fight  without  food,  and  the  Spaniard  is 
gaining  upon  us."  "  Drown  him"  is  the  quick  and 
dqsperate  resolve.  And  no  sooner  resolved,  than 
the  dikes  are  opened  ;  the  canals  are  let  loose  from 
their  beds ;  the  polders  are  filled  with  water ;  the 
country  around  the  town  is  turned  into  a  lake ;  it 
rises  higher  and  higher,  till  it  surges  over  those  of 
the  sixteen  thousand  Spaniards,  whose  heads  the 
burghers  and  the  girls  have  left  whole ;  the  enemy's 
camp  breaks  up,  and  they  crawl  off,  half  drowned, 


THE    ADVENTURER.  229 

over  the  dikes,  and  slink,  drenched  and  dripping, 
away  to  Amsterdam,  appalled  at  the  new  method 
of  defensive  warfare.  And  the  cry  of  victory  goes 
up  from  the  brave  men  and  women  of  Alkmaar; 
and  the  windmills  must  now  go  to  work  and  pump 
the  polders  dry  again ! 

The  potent  touch  of  Orange  has  stirred  up  all 
the  national  life,  and  the  blessings  which  he  prom 
ised  have  begun  to  dawn.  Mutiny  breaks  out 
among  the  unpaid  troops  of  Alva  ;  the  remittances 
from  Spain  fail  him,  and  his  own  bloodhounds 
turn  against  him  and  against  each  other.  They 
prey  upon  and  plunder  the  loyal  and  Catholic  por 
tion  of  the  Netherlands,  and  Alva  summons  the 
Deputies  of  the  States  to  assemble  at  Brussels,  in 
order  to  obtain  from  them  a  vote  of  subsidy.  They 
assemble,  and  Holland  sends  to  them  an  appeal, 
which  strikes  on  a  chord  of  patriotism  that  vibrates 
as  to  words  of  fire.  "  Rise  and  join  us,  and  free 
yourselves  from  Spanish  slavery.  If  all  the  forces 
of  Spain,  Italy,  and  Germany  have  not  been  able 
to  conquer  this  little  strip  of  land  that  makes  the 
Province  of  Holland,  how  easy  would  it  be  to  eman 
cipate  all  the  Netherlands,  if  united  in  a  common 
cause  ?  If  Holland  is  subdued,  Alva  will  then  take 
vengeance  on  all  the  Provinces.  But  we  will  not 
be  subdued!  We  are  determined  to  perish,  town 
by  town  and  man  by  man,  rather  than  submit  to  so 
disgraceful  a  slavery."  It  had  its  effect.  Not  a 
single  pistole  will  the  Deputies  vote  for  Alva  and 
his  bloodhounds. 

Alva  is  chagrined  at  the  result  of  his  government, 
20 


230  THE    ADVENTURER. 

which  has  become  involved  in  hopeless  confusion. 
He  sullenly  quits  the  Netherlands,  leaving  a  name 
behind  him  which  in  all  time  to  come  is  to  pass 
human  lips  with  hisses  and  execrations.  And  yet 
he  was  only  the  fitting  tool  of  the  royal  bigot  at 
Madrid,  who  approved  of  all  that  his  agent  had 
done. 

Holland  has  a  fearful  crisis  to  come  yet,  but  she 
has  time  to  breathe  a  little  now, — until  a  new 
commander  is  sent,  and  the  troops  are  reorganized. 


CHAPTER    XIII. 


"  You  will  suffer  my  little  doves  and  sparrows  to  take  wing  among 
your  eagles,  if  you  should  have  the  same  good  opinion  of  them  as 
they  have  of  themselves ;  if  not,  you  will  kindly  confine  them  to  their 
cage  and  their  nests."  —  PLINY. 


BUT  what  has  become  of  Nimble  John  ?  Alack, 
he  has  not  been  heard  from  for  a  whole  year  since 
his  sail  disappeared  from  the  Catwater,  and  there  is 
all  the  anxiety  and  agony  and  chronic  grief  of  long 
suspense  in  the  house  of  the  "  valiant  and  worshipp- 
full  John  Hawkins."  The  missing  man  sailed  off 
with  a  crew  of  Water  Gueux,  among  whom  was 
Peter  van  der  Mark,  the  old  comrade  of  Sayer,  and 
kinsman  of  the  Admiral.  He  should  have  joined 
the  Admiral's  fleet  off  Dover,  previous  to  their 
memorable  descent  upon  Briel,  but  Briel  was  taken, 
and  neither  Nimble  John  nor  his  ship  appeared 
there.  Meanwhile,  it  goes  not  smoothly  with  our 
darling  Bess,  for  she  dreams  of  shipwrecks  and  truc 
ulent  Spaniards,  and  her  lost  Johnny  gone  down 
among  the  ocean  graves.  Perhaps,  however,  he 
did  not  join  the  Water  Gueux,  not  liking  the  com 
mand  of  their  brutal  and  ferocious  Admiral ;  per 
haps  he  has  sailed  off  on  a  private  venture,  and  is 


232  THE    ADVENTURER. 

safe  somewhere ;  but  then  again,  perhaps,  the  Fu- 
ricanos  or  the  Inquisition  have  got  him,  and  a 
thousand  other  dreadful  perhapses  disturb  the  peace 
of  poor  Bess  and  her  mother.  All  the  news  from 
Holland,  and  especially  from  Amsterdam,  is  sought 
and  sifted,  but  they  do  not  sift  out  the  name  of 
Nimble  John. 

Meanwhile  young1  Johnny  has  fallen  ill,  as  young 
Johnnies  are  very  apt  to  do.  What  ails  him  we 
cannot  tell,  only  he  keeps  up  a  croupy  breathing 
and  barking;  and  if  it  is  not  croup  of  the  most 
decided  and  malignant  character,  we  do  not  know 
what  it  is.  At  any  rate,  we  expect  the  poor  little 
fellow  will  strangle  and  turn  black  and  die  before 
morning,  and  with  the  loss  of  both  her  Johnnies, 
we  fear,  indeed,  that  poor  Bessie  would  quit  for 
the  skies. 

The  doctor  is  called  by  sunrise,  and  a  great  white 
cravat  appears  moving  down  the  street,  with  Dr. 
Pomp  peering  over  from  behind  it. 

"  Why  can't  he  stir  a  little  faster,"  said  Bessie, 
"  when  the  child  is  a-dying.  He  seems  to  be  taking 
a  pleasure  walk  of  a  summer  morning,  and  he  looks 
cool  enough  to  be  a  moving  refrigerator." 

"  Why,  my  sweet  sister,  you  must  consider  that 
people  die  almost  every  day,  and  if  Doctor  Pomp 
ran  always  at  such  times,  he  never  would  get  a 
chance  to  stop  running."  So  answered  Richard 
Hawkins,  who  has  returned  from  a  three  years' 
cruise,  to  find  his  sister  a  wife  and  a  mother  mean 
while.  He  has  a  peaked  chin,  and  a  bland  smile, 
and  we  suppose  from  his  self-satisfied  look  that  he 
has  made  a  prosperous  voyage. 


THE    ADVENTURER.  233 

But  Doctor  Pomp  brings  up  at  last  to  the  sick 
child,  whom  he  looks  at  for  the  space  of  a  minute ; 
and  we  infer  from  the  motion  of  his  under  lip,  that 
he  thinks  science  will  cure  it ;  for  he  deals  out  his 
drops,  and  holds  up  the  phial  between  his  eye  and 
the  light,  and  looks  through  it  with  a  profound 
squint,  which  counts  every  vitalizing  particle  in  the 
mysterious  compound. 

"  Ten  drops  every  half-hour  till  vomiting  begins. — 
Shocking  work  in  the  Netherlands,  Mr.  Hawkins." 

"  Anything  in  particular  ? "  said  Richard ;  and 
Bessie's  eyes  and  ears  opened  wide. 

"  Well,  sir,  they  make  shocking  mutilation  there 
of  the  human  frame,  particularly  of  the  osseous 
portions  of  it.  A  man  breaks  his  leg  through  the 
regular  operation  of  natural  laws,  and  there  is  some 
pleasure  in  setting  it.  But  it  's  bad  work  when 
men  break  each  other  to  pieces.  I  had  a  whole- 
cargo  of  broken  limbs  and  skulls  to  mend  last 
night.  But  it  's  little  science  can  do,  when  her 
rules  are  so  totally  disregarded  in  the  matter  of 
wounding  and  killing." 

"  Were  these  men  brought  in  from  the  Nether 
lands  ?  "  asked  Richard  Hawkins. 

"  Yes,  sir.  One  man,  sir,  had  the  os  frontis  driv 
en  clear  into  his  brain.  A  moderate  blow  would 
have  made  a  fracture  that  science  can  deal  with. 
But  in  this  case  the  osseous  portion  was  driven 
into  the  pia  mater.  Strange  that  men  will  fight 
so  like  demons,  instead  of  taking  it  moderately. 
And  there  was  another  man  who  had  the  os  pelvis 
smashed  fine  as  pebble-stones.  Impossible  to  do 

20* 


234  THE    ADVENTURER. 

anything  with  it  but  make  a  new  one,  and  that,  sir, 
is  out  of  our  province." 

"  Are  these  Spaniards  that  you  have  been  patch 
ing  up,  Doctor  ?  " 

"  No,  sir.  —  Ah,  the  drops  are  working  off  tire 
phlegm,  —  pulse  not  so  wiry,  —  freer  passage 
through  the  trachea.  —  These  were  some  of  the 
Water  Gueux.  They  lie  in  wait  off  Flushing,  and 
watch  for  the  Spanish  transports  at  the  mouths 
of  the  Scheldt,  as  a  cat  watches  a  rat-hole.  Then 
they  bear  down  upon  them,  and  snatch  them,  and 
bring  in  their  prizes  to  Middleburg.  Well,  sir,  it 
happened  that  one  of  their  ships  got  separated  from 
the  rest,  and  was  chased  by  the  ships  of  Alva  clear 
into  the  Channel.  At  length  the  Spaniard  grappled 
the  Dutchman ;  they  fought  desperately,  and  the 
latter  was  likely  to  be  captured  ;  whereupon  one  of 
the  crew  of  the  Dutchman,  who  sat  grimly  upon 
the  powder-magazine,  touched  it  off,  according  to 
his  orders,  and  Spaniards  and  Dutchmen  blew  up 
into  the  sky  together,  and  rained  down  promiscu 
ously  into  the  water.  An  English  vessel  happened 
along  and  picked  up  the  fragments." 

"  But  don't  it  kill  people  to  be  blown  up  ?  "  asked 
Bessie. 

"  It 's  very  apt,  madam,  to  injure  the  cellular  tis 
sues,  and  that  too  beyond  the  power  of  science  to 
repair.  However,  some  of  these  Gueux  came  down 
nearly  as  whole  as  they  went  up.  They  fight  like 
devils,  and  are  about  as  hard  to  kill ;  and  it  is  their 
rule,  I  understand,  to  blow  themselves  into  the  air 
rather  than  be  captured  by  the  Spaniard.  But 


THE  ADVENTURER.  235 

they  are  bad  fellows  to  mend,  madam,  —  very 
bad,  —  and  it  does  seem  to  me  a  pity,  after  God 
has  taken  pains  to  make  us  so  wonderfully,  that  we 
should  unmake  ourselves  so  shockingly,  not  to  say 
shabbily.  —  Breathes  easier,  flesh  softer.  The  little 
fellow  will  be  jumping  about  the  house  to-morrow. 
Good  morning." 

But  Bessie  followed  him  out  of  the  door,  and, 
with  a  heart  that  doubled  its  beat,  asked  Doctor 
Pomp,  "  Did  you  hear  anything  of  my  husband 
and  his-  vessel?  " 

"  I  put  that  very  question  to  those  fellows,  —  at 
least  to  what  was  left  of  them,  —  and  they  said 
they  had  heard  of  your  husband  doing  service 
under  the  Prince  of  Orange,  but  they  could  not  tell 
where.  But,"  he  added,  in  a  kindly  voice,  touch 
ing  her  gently  upon  the  cheek,  "  don't  let  this  cheek 
lose  all  its  rubies ;  your  husband  won't  be  blowing 
himself  into  the  sky  by  physical  force;  he  is  too 
sensible  a  man  for  that,  and  when  the  time  comes, 
and  not  before,  he  will  go  up  there  the  natural 
way." 

Small  consolation  was  this  to  Bessie,  for  she 
knew  very  well  that  her  husband's  kinsman,  Sir 
John  Sayer,  was  in  the  service  of  the  Prince  of 
Orange,  and  that  the  two  might  very  easily  be 
confounded.  But  it  is  something  to  build  a  hope 
upon,  and  she  forms  the  brave  resolve  of  going  to 
find  him.  But  what  can  you  do,  Bessie,  and  how 
can  you  think  of  going,  without  chart  or  compass, 
into  that  sea  of  blood  and  storm  ?  These  consider 
ations  did  not  fail  to  occur  to  the  whole  family. 


236  THE    ADVENTURER. 

"  Nay,  nay !  old  Jack  Hawkins  will  rather  go 
himself  than  see  his  fire-bird  put  wing  into  such 
a  tempest  of  hot  thunders.  I  '11  take  the  Minion 
and  the  Judith,  and  go  and  join  Mark,  and  send 
the  murrain  among  the  Don-devils,  and  bring  back 
Nimble  John,  if 's  'alive." 

"  Nay,  answered  Bessie,  but  I  promised  to  be  his 
dove  of  good  omen,  and  hover  about  him  in  the 
hurricanes,  and  I  shall  certainly  go  along  with  you 
till  we  find  him." 

"  Mad,  —  mad,  —  ye  silly  girl !  What  do  ye  ex 
pect  to  do  among  the  Inquisitors  that  slashed  wo 
men  and  children  to  pieces  at  Naarden  ?  " 

"But  I  '11  hand  him  up  stones  and  fire-missiles, 
as  those  women  did  at  Alkmaar,  or  I  '11  take  care 
of  him  when  he  's  sick  or  wounded,  and  keep  him 
from  being  snatched  by  the  Spanish  bulldogs." 

"  What  a'  murrain !  Ye  should  have  seen  the 
Jesus  of  Lubec  when  she  was  grappled  by  two 
Spaniards  at  once,  and  when  she  had  cut  her 
head-fastes  and  gotten  out  by  the  stern-fastes,  and 
the  Minion  were  gotten  about,  and  the  ordnance 
from  the  island  opened  on  the  Jesus,  and  cut  and 
whizzed  through  her ;  and  the  Spaniards  fired  two 
great  ships,  and  sent  them  blazing  down  upon  us, 
and  they  came  a-crackling  and  a-roaring  alongside 
of  us,  and  scorched  and  blinded  us  with  smoke 
and  flame,  and  the  men  of  the  Jesus  were  seized 
with  a  panic,  for  they  thought  hell  was  agape  and 
belching  its  cinders  over  them  ;  and  some  of  them 
got  off  in  the  boat,  and  left  the  rest  to  abide  the 
mercy  of  the  Spaniards  and  the  fire.  And  we  sailed 


THE  ADVENTURER.  237 

away  while  the  waters  of  the  harbor  were  red  with 
the  glare,  and  the  shrieks  and  screams  of  the  men 
we  had  left  in  the  Jesus  were  ringing  in  our  ears 
out  of  the  fire.  What  could  ye  do  in  such  a  place 
as  that,  ye  silly  girl  ?  " 

"  Jump  into  the  fire,  and  bring  my  husband  out 
to  see  his  baby." 

On  one  of  the  polygonal  streets  that  form  the 
outer  circle  of  the  half-moon,  —  the  shape,  as  the 
reader  will  remember,  of  the  city  of  Amsterdam,  — 
was  the  house  of  the  Lady  Egmond.  The  street 
was  called  Heeren  Straat,  and  was  away  from  the 
noise  and  turmoil  of  the  business  portion  of  the 
great  commercial  city.  The  canal-boats  passed 
along  its  silent  and  shaded  highway ;  but  no  sound 
of  wheels  went  by,  and  the  gentle  plashing  of 
the  canal-waters,  or  a  footfall  along  the  sidewalks 
under  the  chestnut  and  linden  trees,  was  the  only 
noise  of  passengers.  Here  in  her  old  mansion  is 
the  Lady  Egmond  and  a  part  of  her  grandchildren, 
sons  and  daughters  of  the  ill-fated  Count  Lamoral. 
The  eldest  is  Maria,*  who  at  this  time  (1574)  is 
some  twenty*seven  years  of  age.  There  are  two 
other  daughters  who  have  arrived  at  womanhood, 
Magdalena  and  Christina,  one  about  twenty-one 
and  the  other  nineteen.  Besides  these  there  are 
three  younger  sisters  who  are  yet  in  their  girlhood, 
Anna,  Sabina,  and  Jenne ;  and  there  are  three  sons, 
Philip,  Lamoral,  and  Charles,  their  ages  ranging 

#  That  is,  the  eldest  unmarried.     There  was  an  elder  sister,  Leo 
nora,  who  was  now  married  to  the  Count  van  Houtkerke. 


238  THE    ADVENTURER. 

from  six  to  sixteen.  The  widow  of  the  murdered 
Count,  and  mother  of  these  children,  was  Sabina, 
daughter  of  the  Count  Palatine  of  Bavaria,  and  she 
has  remained  in  Brussels,  poor  and  desolate,  since 
the  cruel  stroke  that  crushed  her  household.  Lady 
Egmond,  the  grandmother  of  these  children,  is 
watching  tenderly  over  them  for  a  little  space, — 
she  whose  benevolent  face  appeared  before  the 
Lady  Anne  Sayer  to  assuage  the  bitterness  of  her 
exile  and  that  of  her  orphan  boy. 

Alas !  the  story  of  sieges  and  battles  and  public 
executions  does  not  measure  the  depth  of  calamity 
produced  by  war.  In  this  old  mansion  on  the 
Heeren  Straat  is  the  unimagined  sorrow  which  has 
sought  its  silent  and  protecting  shades.  Age  has 
slightly  bent  down  the  Lady  Egmond,  and  studded 
her  hair  with  drops  of  silver ;  but  there  is  the  same 
curve  of  benevolence  under  each  of  her  large  and 
beamy  blue  eyes.  There  is  one  awful  image  that  is 
never  out  of  her  mind,  imparting  its  subduing  power 
to  her  manner  and  tone,  and  even  tinging  the  light 
of  day  with  ashen  hues.  Among  the  six  daughters 
whose  melodies  charmed  the  Rue  Bellevue,  the  song 
is  hushed  and  the  lute  is  silent,  and  they  look  into 
each  other's  marble  faces  without  speaking  that 
one  name  which  crowds  all  other  names  from  their 
memory,  or  of  that  one  event  which  crowds  all 
other  images  out  of  sight.  Three  of  them  are  to 
become  nuns  in  the  priories  of  Brussels,  those  re 
treats  into  which  the  noise  of  human  cruelty  and 
wrong  cannot  enter,  and  where  the  soul  shall  yearn 
upward  till  she  sees  the  gates  unbarred  by  the  shin- 


THE    ADVENTURER.  239 

ing  ones,  and  she  shall  pass  through  them,  and  they 
shall  close  and  shut  out  the  earth  for  ever,  and  all 
its  hideous  sights. 

To  this  mansion  on  the  Heeren  Straat,  covered 
thickly  with  the  shadows  of  the  linden-trees,  a 
strange  footstep  has  bent  its  way.  It  is  a  woman 
with  a  buoyant  tread,  and  with  a  bright  but  anx 
ious  countenance,  with  a  boy  beside  her,  walking, 
like  little  lulus,  "  haud  passibus  sequis  "  ,  and  now 
we  perceive  it  is  none  other  than  our  little  flamingo. 
She  has  found  her  way  hither,  notwithstanding  her 
father's  warnings  ;  for  she  has  come  over  in  the 
Minion  under  the  care  of  Richard,  whose  ship  has 
sailed  in  the  merchant  service  to  the  great  city  of 
commerce.  And  if  she  means  to  find  her  husband 
and  hover  about  him  in  the  storm,  she  could  not  do 
better  than  consult  the  Lady  Egmond,  and  for  this 
very  purpose  she  enters  the  mansion  of  silent  sor 
row. 

The  good  woman  sat  and  listened  to  Bessie's 
story ;  and  when  it  was  finished,  the  light  of  her 
benevolent  smile  broke  through  and  irradiated  the 
lines  of  grief  upon  her  brow. 

"  If  your  husband  is  in  the  service  of  the  Prince, 
or  even  in  the  Netherlands,  he  can  probably  be 
found."  And  she  sat  down  and  dictated  a  line 
to  the  Prince  of  Orange,  who  was  at  the  Hague. 
Then,  laying  her  hand  gently  upon  Bessie :  "  You 
will  stay  here,  my  good  child,  till  we  get  an  answer. 
Keep  quiet  with  me,  my  pretty  lamb,  and  don't  go 
out  needlessly  among  the  wolves." 


CHAPTER    XIV. 

"Water,  water,  everywhere."  — Ancient  Mariner. 

ALONG  one  of  the  mouths  of  the  Rhine,  on  either 
side,  and  extending  inward  some  fifteen  miles,  lies 
the  district  of  Rhynland,  quite  as  remarkable  as  any 
in  Holland,  and  for  some  of  its  features  as  remark 
able  as  any  in  the  whole  world.  In  the  midst  of 
this  district  stands  the  city  of  Ley  den ;  and  if  the 
reader  has  any  Pilgrim  blood  in  his  veins,  he  will 
pause  at  that  name  with  some  degree  of  reverence 
and  affection.  The  Rhine  before  it  enters  Leyden 
parts  into  two  streams ;  these  sweep  round  through 
opposite  portions  of  the  city,  and  reunite  near  its 
centre.  These  branches  are  called  the  Old  and  the 
New  Rhine.  From  these,  streams  the  canals  cir 
culate  through  the  city  in  all  directions,  cutting  it 
up  into  innumerable  islands,  —  the  silent  highways 
through  all  its  principal  streets  and  squares.  But 
if  you  would  get  a  view  both  extended  and  minute, 
you  must  come  along  with  us  to  the  top  of  the 
town-hall,  and  look  out  from  its  belfry;  and  now 
the  whole  city,  with  its  environs,  and  nearly  the 
whole  of  Rhynland,  is  unrolled  beneath  the  eye. 


THE    ADVENTURER.  241 

What  an  odd  city  is  this  Leyden  !  What  strange- 
looking  houses,  with  their  old  gables,  standing  each 
with  the  end  towards  the  canal,  with  the  eave- 
trough  projecting  forward  so  as  to  empty  itself  into 
the  water!  What  a  queer  jumble  of  brick  inlaid 
with  stone-work !  What  narrow  streets  and  winding 
lanes,  kept  clean  by  stout  women  and  girls,  dashing 
over  them  their  endless  pails  of  water !  How  beau 
tifully  does  the  Rhine,  with  its  divided  streams, 
move  along  through  the  city,  and  how  oddly  do  the 
canals  gleam  in  silver  threads  all  over  it,  wherever 
you  can  see  them  through  the  trees  that  are  planted 
along  the  banks !  How  significantly  do  the  church 
es  point  upward  their  turrets  above  the  masses  of 
houses,  and  how  sweet  is  the  noise  of  their  chimes, 
as  they  break  out  almost  every  hour,  and  thrill 
through  the  air,  and  around  the  old  gables,  and 
down  through  the  lanes,  and  along  the  lazy  canal- 
waters,  sometimes  sad  and  sometimes  merry,  some 
times  loud  and  sometimes  soft,  keeping  the  whole 
city  bathed  in  an  atmosphere  of  fantastic  sounds! 
And  then  look  over  the  walls  of  the  city,  and  be 
yond  through  the  charming  region  of  the  Rhynland, 
lying  level  as  a  floor,  and  therefore  visible  far  away 
to  where  the  green  fields  become  hazy,  and  at  length 
fade  softly  into  blue.  Seventy  villages  are  under 
your  eye,  surrounded  each  by  rich  fields  of  corn  and 
clover  and  endless  herds  of  grazing  kine.  The  pol 
ders  are  spread  out  before  you,  in  soft,  luxuriant 
green,  checkered  by  the  canals,  along  which  the 
everlasting  windmills  swing  their  brawny  arms. 
Away  ten  miles  to  the  south  you  can  see  the  city 
21 


242  THE    ADVENTURER. 

of  the  Hague,  and  a  little  farther  the  town  of  Delft, 
lying  under  the  half-transparent  mantle  of  dreamy 
haze.  A  rich  and  teeming  landscape  is  this  district 
of  Rhynland,  with  its  seventy  villages  glittering  out 
of  the  green  foliage  like  gems  from  a  velvet  robe. 
But  it  is  frightful  to  think  that  this  whole  fairy  re 
gion  lies  lower  down  than  the  waters  either  of  the 
ocean  or  the  Rhine.  What  if  those  waters  should 
break  through  the  dikes,  and  blot  out  one  by  one 
these  glittering  gems,  villages,  polders,  windmills, 
and  all! 

But  alas  for  the  devoted  city!  a  worse  calamity 
than  that  is  impending  now.  The  Spaniard, 
though  baffled  for  a  time,  has  mustered  his  forces 
and  is  coming  again.  Alva  has  left  never  to  return, 
but  his  successor,  Requesens,  has  been  sent  by 
Philip  to  take  his  place,  reorganize  the  army,  en 
force  the  edicts  of  the  Inquisition,  and  crush  out 
the  vital  spark  of  liberty  in  Holland.  Since  the 
siege  and  capture  of  Haarlem,  she  has  had  a  breath 
ing  time ;  the  Prince  of  Orange  has  been  present, 
to  rouse  and  guide  her  energies  by  his  masterly 
statesmanship.  But  she  has  lost  the  services  of 
him  who  may  be  said  to  have  been  the  founder  of 
her  liberty.  William  van  der  Mark,  who  made 
Holland  master  of  the  ocean,  who  took  Briel  and 
was  made  commander  of  the  forces  by  sea  and  land, 
has  been  deposed  from  his  command  for  his  inso 
lence  and  his  cruelties.  He  came,  at  length,  to 
defy  the  authority  of  the  State  and  of  the  Prince 
himself;  he  would  hang  Catholic  priests  wherever 
he  could  find  them,  and  the  people  complained  that 


THE    ADVENTURER.  243 

his  rule  was  not  much  better  than  that  of  the  Span 
iard.  He  was  deprived  of  his  offices  and  thrown 
into  prison,  but  permitted  ultimately  to  retire  with 
his  property  from  Holland ;  and  so  his  name  disap 
pears  henceforth  from  her  glorious  annals. 

Requesens,  the  successor  of  Alva  as  Governor  of 
the  Netherlands,  unlike  his  predecessor,  is  a  man 
of  clemency  and  humanity  ;  but  he  comes  with  the 
fame  of  a  skilful  commander,  and  is  fresh  from  his 
victory  over  the  Turk.  He  will  not  practise  the 
cruelties  of  Alva,  but  he  will  enforce  the  edicts  and 
reduce  Holland  if  he  can.  And  as  soon  as  he  can 
subdue  the  mutinies  in  his  army,  and  extricate  af 
fairs  from  the  disorder  in  which  Alva  left  them, 
Requesens  despatches  his  general,  Valdez,  with 
eight  thousand  men,  to  lay  siege  to  Leyden.  They 
have  taken  possession  of  the  Rhynland,  and  com 
pletely  surrounded  the  devoted  city  with  a  cordon 
of  forts,  and  wait  the  slow  but  sure  effect  of  famine. 
Remembering  the  lesson  which  they  learned  at 
Alkmaar,  they  have  left  their  artillery  behind  them ; 
but  they  possess  all  the  canals  that  enter  the  city  ; 
and  since  there  are  not  three  months'  provision  with 
in  it,  Valdez  feels  sure  of  his  prey. 

The  citizens  of  Leyden  are  taken  by  surprise. 
They  have  neglected  to  lay  in  a  store  of  provisions, 
and  they  have  no  troops  to  defend  the  city  but  the 
burgher  guards.  But  the  burgher  guards  will  de 
fend  it  to  the  death.  They  are  commanded  by 
Peter  van  der  Werff.  The  governor  of  the  city  is 
John  van  der  Does.  The  names  of  these  two  men 
are  not  remarkably  euphonious,  and  they  would  not 


244  THE  ADVENTURER. 

sound  very  well  in  Homer's  verse,  nor  keep  time 
with  its  thunder-tramp ;  but  fortunately  they  do 
not  need  it  to  make  their  deeds  immortal.  Their 
pictures  hang  up  to  this  day  in  the  town-hall,  and 
their  faces  look  mild  and  benevolent,  but  at  the 
same  time  full  of  calm  and  immovable  determi 
nation. 

Valdez  summons  a  surrender.  He  sends  a  letter 
by  the  hands  of  some  deserters,  filled  with  flatter 
ing  promises  and  offers  of  pardon.  He  receives 
from  the  governor  a  very  short  and  pithy  reply  in 
Latin  :  "  Fistula  dulce  canit  volucrem,  dum  decipit 
anceps."  * 

Orange  is  alive  to  the  emergency.  Large  col 
lections  of  provisions  are  made  for  the  relief  of  the 
besieged,  but  he  has  no  force  sufficient  to  break 
through  the  line  of  forts  that  invests  the  starving 
city.  The  three  months'  provisions  are  consumed, 
and  dogs  and  horses  and  offal  only  remain  to  feed 
the  inhabitants.  The  young  girls  eat  the  lapdogs 
with  which  they  used  to  play.  Women,  with  their 
faces  covered,  crawl  through  the  streets,  or  sit  on 
heaps  of  refuse  in  search  of  some  morsel  to  satisfy 
their  hunger.  Plague,  the  attendant  of  famine, 
breaks  oat,  and  the  haggard  processions  carry  out 
the  corpses  to  burial.  Still  the  women  urge  on  the 
defence,  and  keep  alive  the  flagging  heroism  of  the 
men.  "  Leave  us  to  die  with  starvation  rather 
than  submit  to  the  foe."  And  the  burgher  guard 
comes  down  from  the  walls  at  night,  to  find  that 

*  "  The  fowler  plays  sweet  notes  on  his  pipe,  while  he  spreads  his 
net  for  the  bird." 


((UNIVERSITY) 

THE    ADVENTURER.    N^O  245 


the  wife  or  daughter  who-  cheered  him  on  in  the 
morning  is  no  more.  There  is  no  sound  of  battle, 
no  din  of  arms.  The  Spaniard  without  awaits  his 
prey  in  silence,  and  within  there  is  the  fixed  and 
gloomy  resolve,  if  need  be,  to  starve  and  die. 

In  this  state  of  things  Valdez  urges  once  more  a 
surrender.  "  You  have  become  eaters  of  cats  and 
dogs,  and  these  must  fail  you  soon."  And  he 
promises  again  to  grant  them  generous  terms  of 
capitulation.  The  burghers  rush  to  the  walls  with 
their  answer :  "  When  the  cats  and  dogs  fail  us,  we 
will  eat  our  left  hand,  and  fight  you  with  our  right." 

And  that  desperate  extremity  has  well-nigh  come, 
for  they  can  scarcely  drag  their  limbs  to  the  walls. 
At  length  the  spirits  even  of  these  brave  men  are 
subdued,   and  they  raise  a  riot  against  their  com 
mander,  Van  der   Werff,  and  demand  a  surrender 
of  the  city.     They  throng  around  him  with  implor 
ing  and  piteous  looks.     "Give  us  food,  or  else  treat 
with  the  Spaniards!"     This  memorable  scene  has 
been  transferred   to   canvas  by  the  pencil  of  Van 
Bree  of  Antwerp,  and  hangs  up  also  in  the  Burgo 
masters'  Hall  at  Leyden ;  but  no  pencil  can  paint 
the  lofty  heroism  of  the  commander,   as  he  looks 
around  on  his  haggard  company,  and  nerves  their 
arms  anew  by  his  immortal  words:  "  I  have  made 
an  oath,  which,  by  the  help  of  God,  I  will  keep, 
that  I  will  never  yield  to  the  Spaniard.     Bread,  as 
you  know,  I  have  none ;  but  if  my  death  can  serve 
you,  slay  me,  cut  my  body  into  morsels,  and  divide 
it  amongst  you."     The  rioters  slink  away,  silent  and 
ashamed,  and  return  to  their  duty  on  the  walls. 
21* 


246  THE    ADVENTURER. 

As  the  Prince  cannot  break  through  the  line  of 
forts,  and  throw  succors  into  the  city,  he  meets  the 
deputies  at  Rotterdam,  and  lays  before  them  a  new 
plan  of  operations.  "  Cut  through  the  sluices,"  says 
he,  "  and  let  in  the  waters  to  flood  the  Rhynland,  and 
on  these  waters  we  will  float  provisions  up  to  the 
gates  of  Leyden."  It  was  a  desperate  sacrifice  to 
lay  that  fertile  and  lovely  region  under  water.  But 
let  it  be  done,  said  the  deputies ;  for  "  it  is  better 
that  the  country  should  be  ruined  than  lost."  Two 
hundred  flat-bottomed  boats  are  got  ready,  laden 
with  ammunition  and  provisions,  and  Admiral  Boi- 
sot  is  summoned  with  his  men  from  Zealand,  —  the 
same  Water  Gueux  who  had  taken  Flushing,  and 
commanded  the  mouths  of  the  Scheldt. 

The  sluices  are  opened,  and  the  Meuse  and  the 
Issel  invited  to  pour  their  waters  over  the  Rhyn 
land.  But  alas !  the  wind  and  the  tide  have  con 
spired  with  the  Spaniard.  The  waters  will  not 
come  in.  The  wind  is  dead  northeast,  arid  there 
it  keeps  day  after  day,  and  drives  back  the  waters 
of  the  Meuse ;  and  the  Spaniards  laugh  at  the  fee 
ble  and  desperate  expedient.  Day  after  day  the 
starving  burghers  strain  their  eyes  from  the  walls, 
but  nothing  comes  over  the  Rhynland.  The  flat- 
boats,  laden  with  provisions,  wait  in  the  waters  of 
the  Meuse,  but  they  can  get  no  farther.  But  a 
change  comes  at  last ;  the  wind  on  a  sudden  veers 
round  to  the  southwest,  and  drives  the  Meuse  over 
the  polders !  The  waters  rush  on,  flood  after  flood, 
and  submerge  the  Rhynland,  rolling  around  the 
gates  of  Leyden,  and  dashing  against  the  forts  of 


THE    ADVENTURER.  247 

the  Spaniard,  who  looks  around  him  appalled.  But 
he  has  something  to  fear  besides  the  Meuse,  with 
its  army  of  waves.  The  two  hundred  flat-bottomed 
boats  float  triumphant  over  the  polders  towards  the 
walls  of  Leyden.  Grim  fellows  they  are  that  man 
them,  breathing  silent  revenge  to  the  motion  of  the 
oar,  holding  each  in  his  hand  a  long  pole  with  an 
iron  hook  at  the  end,  and  wearing  upon  his  hat  the 
dreaded  motto,  «  Rather  Turk  than  Pope."  The 
Water  Gueux  are  coming!  On  one  of  the  flat- 
bottomed  boats,  bending  silent  to  his  oar,  is  the 
truculent  fellow  who  took  a  Spanish  soldier  at  Zoe- 
termeer,  tore  his  heart  out  of  his  body,  and  set  his 
teeth  into  it,  and  then  dashed  it  on  the  ground,  say 
ing,  "  It  is  bitter."  And  there  are  enough  men  of 
the  same  spirit,  who  are  rowing  the  flat-bottomed 
boats  over  the  polders. 

The  Spaniards  abandon  their  forts,  and  fly  in  ter 
ror  along  the  dikes  and  causeways.  Over  these 
they  deploy  in  Indian  file,  drenched  in  the  waters 
or  swamping  in  the  mad,  but  the  Water  Gueux 
are  after  them.  With  the  long  poles  they  hook 
them  down  one  after  another,  and  give  them  to 
the  mercy  of  the  sea.  Wherever  they  deploy,  the 
sound,  "  Long  live  the  Gueux  in  srjite  of  the  Mass!" 
comes  shouting  after  them,  and  then  the  fatal  hook 
lays  hold  of  them.  In  their  disastrous  retreat,  a 
large  proportion  of  them  leave  their  carcasses  to 
fatten  the  polders,  and  be  turned  into  Dutch  butter, 
—  a  better  use,  probably,  than  they  ever  were  put  to 
before !  The  Water  Gueux  have  come  again. 

Among  the  boats  that  ride  triumphant  in  this 


248  THE    ADVENTURER. 

artificial  sea,  there  is  one  that  has  neither  sail  nor 
oar,  but  moves  nevertheless  with  rapid  motion,  and 
leaves  behid  it  a  path  that  hisses  with  foam.  It 
is  the  "  Ark  of  Delft,"  so  called  because  it  was  built 
there ;  it  moves  by  a  wheel  worked  by  twelve  men, 
and  thus  anticipates  in  part  the  invention  of  Ful 
ton.  And  who  is  that  burly-pated  fellow  who 
stands  at  the  prow,  with  his  long  pole,  which  he 
uses  sometimes  to  ease  off  the  boat  from  some  im 
pinging  chimney  or  church  steeple,  that  peeps  above 
the  waves,  sometimes  changing  ends  as  occasion 
offers,  and  hooking  a  Spaniard  from  his  slippery 
foothold  on  the  dikes,  and  sending  him  twirling 
through  the  air,  as  a  boy  would  a  salmon,  till  he 
comes  plashing  down  in  the  boat's  wake,  uttering 
innumerable  curses  and  Ave  Marias  ?  The  burly- 
pated  fellow  looks  very  much  like  Peter  van  der 
Mark.  And  who  is  the  tallyman  that  stands  on  the 
deck,  and  directs  the  motions  of  the  boat,  keeping 
a  keen  look-out  with  his  great  black  eye,  that  darts 
hither  and  thither,  and  giving  orders  to  his  men 
with  earnest  gestures  of  his  long  arms?  It  is  Nim 
ble  John !  His  vessel  is  riding  in  the  Meuse,  filled 
with  stores  for  the  Leyden  sufferers,  and  the  Ark  of 
Delft  is  transporting  the  stores  over  the  flooded 
Rhynland,  and  hooking  off  Spaniards  from  their 
retreat  by  the  way. 

All  the  forts  had  now  been  abandoned  but  one. 
Fort  Larnmen  stands  about  half  a  mile  from  Ley- 
den,  on  a  slight  eminence,  provided  with  enormous 
pieces  of  artillery.  The  waves  do  not  come  quite 
up  to  it,  and  it  must  be  taken  by  storm.  Admiral 


THE    ADVENTURER.  249 

Boisot  is  doubtful  whether  he  shall  master  it,  and 
he  sends  a  carrier-pigeon  into  the  besieged  city,  and 
requests  the  burgher  guards  to  be  ready  on  the 
morrow  to  make  a  sally  at  a  given  signal ;  and  the 
burgher  guards  stand  eager  to  obey.  The  morrow 
comes,  and  the  Admiral  has  marshalled  his  boats, 
and  is  sailing  towards  Fort  Lammen.  Suddenly  a 
cry  of  terror  runs  through  the  fort.  "  The  Water 
GueuK  are  coming!"  and  the  fort  is  abandoned, 
with  nearly  the  whole  of  its  baggage  and  ammuni 
tion,  and  the  frightened  Spaniards  are  cowering 
along  the  dikes,  or  sticking  fast  in  the  sedges  to  be 
fished  up  by  the  long  poles,  and  so  the  last  foe  dis 
appears  from  before  the  gates  of  Leyden.  And 
now  the  feeble  but  joyful  cry,  "  Leyden  is  saved!" 
runs  round  the  walls,  and  down  through  the  streets 
of  the  half-deserted  city,  and  numbers  come  to  the 
gates  to  hail  their  deliverers.  The  deliverers  stand 
and  weep  at  the  sight.  What  skeletons  are  these 
that  totter  through  the  gates,  or  sit  along  the  silent 
streets,  where  gaunt  famine  and  despair  have  reigned 
supreme,  without  crushing  out  a  spark  of  the  hero 
ism  of  the  people  !  They  pour  in  provisions  upon 
the  sufferers,  which  are  devoured  sometimes  with  a 
fatal  eagerness  ;  nevertheless  the  cry  of  thanksgiv 
ing  and  joy  waxes  louder  and  louder,  "  Leyden  is 
saved!" 


CHAPTER    XV. 


"  In  this  firm  hour  Salvation  lifts  her  horn ;  — 
Glory  to  arms  !  " 


LEYDEN  is  saved!  is  the  news  which  comes  to 
Orange  as  he  lies  on  a  sick-bed  at  Delft,  over 
whelmed  with  the  cares  of  the  state,  and  revolving 
in  his  gloomy  thoughts  the  salvation  of  his  beloved 
people.  He  springs  from  his  bed,  his  limbs  made 
elastic  by  the  glad  tidings,  and  rushes  into  one  of 
the  churches  of  Delft  with  offerings  of  praise.  Then 
he  hastens  to  the  afflicted  city,  to  sympathize  and 
rejoice  with  the  late  sufferers.  For  the  first  few  days 
the  care  of  the  sick  absorbed  all  the  attention  of  the 
deliverers,  who  saw  in  all  the  circumstances  of  their 
deliverance  a  Divine  and  interposing  hand.  Im 
mediately  after  the  siege  was  raised,  twenty  rods 
of  the  wall  fell  down  without  any  apparent  cause ; 
an  incident  which  two  days  before  would  have 
been  fatal  to  the  besieged,  but  which  now  increased 
the  speed  of  their  flying  enemies,  who  heard  the 
noise  behind  them,  and,  ignorant  of  its  cause, 
shouted  again  the  panic-cry,  "  The  Gueux  are 
coming ! "  On  the  very  day  too  that  the  siege  was 


THE  ADVENTURER.  251 

raised,  the  wind  veered  round  again  to  the  north 
east,  and  drove  back  the  waters  of  the  Meuse  and 
the  Issel  into  their  old  limits,  as  if  God  himself  had 
mustered  his  armies,  and  called  them  off  when  the 
victory  was  won. 

A  Dutch  poet  celebrates  the  victory  in  these 
strains :  — 

"  Non  opus  est  gladiis,  ferroque  rigentibus  armis ; 
Solse  pro  Batavo  belligeranter  aquae  : 
Tolle  metus,  Hispane  fuge,  et  ne  respice  terras, 
Pro  quibus  oceanus  pugnat,  et  ipse  Deus." 

No  need  of  swords,  nor  steel,  nor  armor  bright  I 
Armies  of  waters  for  Batavia  fight. 
Fly,  Spaniard !  look  not  back  upon  the  land 
For  which  old  Ocean  wars,  at  God's  command  ! 

And  now  the  famished  men  and  women  walk 
erect  and  strong  again,  and  all  the  belfries  of  Leyden 
are  answering  to  each  other  in  joyful  chimes, — 

"  Low  and  loud  and  sweetly  blended, 
Low  at  times  and  loud  at  times, 
Changing  like  a  poet's  rhymes." 

The  admirals  are  presented  with  a  magnificent 
chain  and  medal  of  gold.  The  great  Church  of 
St.  Peter  is  thrown  open  for  religious  service,  and 
the  deliverers  and  delivered  together  crowd  thither, 
Orange  at  their  head,  to  give  thanks  to  the  God 
of  battles.  Among  the  crowd  is  Nimble  John, 
with  his  men  that  rowed  the  Ark  of  Delft,  some 
of  them  truculent-looking  enough,  even  when  their 
features  are  relaxed  and  softened  with  devotional 
feeling.  The  Gueux  themselves  crowd  into  the 
church,  and  their  features,  seamed  and  scarred  and 


252  THE    ADVENTURER. 

tanned  with  fight  and  wind  and  storm,  become 
changed,  and  even  tremulous,  as  they  bow  before 
the  spirit  of  prayer  and  praise  that  sweeps  all  hearts 
before  it,  and  mounts  away  to  the  skies. 

"  I  will  sing  unto  the  Lord,  for  he  hath  triumphed 
gloriously ;  Pharaoh's  chariots  and  his  host  hath  he 
cast  into  the  sea;  his  chosen  captains  also  are 
drowned  in  the  sea. 

"  The  depths  have  covered  them ;  they  sank  into 
the  bottom  as  a  stone. 

"  Thy  right  hand,  O  Lord,  is  become  glorious  in 
power;  thy  right  hand,  O  Lord,  hath  dashed  in 
pieces  the  enemy. 

"  With  the  blast  of  thy  nostrils  the  waters  were 
gathered  together;  the  floods  stood  upright  as  an 
heap. 

"  The  enemy  said,  I  will  pursue,  I  will  divide  the 
spoil";  I  will  draw  my  sword,  my  hand  shall  destroy 
them. 

"  Thou  didst  blow  with  thy  wind,  the  sea  covered 
them,  they  sank  as  lead  in  the  mighty  waters." 

These  strains  have  rolled  down  the  nave  and 
back  again,  and  seem  to  linger  in  the  arches  and 
the  hearts  of  the  multitudes  as  they  leave  the 
church  and  break  away  to  their  homes.  As  Nim 
ble  John  is  coming  out  of  the  door  of  St.  Peter's, 
nearly  the  last  of  the  dispersing  crowd,  a  sweet 
face  appears  before  him,  and  his  wife  rushes  into 
his  arms.  He  is  taken  somewhat  by  surprise,  but 
he  cannot  doubt  the  waking  reality  as  he  scans  her 
o'er  and  o'er. 

"  Did  you  fly  hither,  my  bird  ?     And  how  came 


THE    ADVENTURER.  253 

you  to  trust  yourself  to  the  storm  and  wind  ?  And 
what  have  you  done  with  the  little  fellow  I  left 
with  you  a  year  agone  ? " 

"  Yes,  I  did  fly  hither,  for  did  you  not  tell  me  I 
should  hover  about  you,  and  come  down  through 
the  storm  as  your  sign  of  blessed  promise  ?  I  found 
you  out  through  the  Lady  Egmond,  and  I  know  all 
you  have  done ;  how  you  sailed  to  Flushing  and 
put  your  ships  in  command  of  Admiral  Boisot ; 
how  you  were  stationed  at  Middle  burg ;  how  your 
fleet  scattered  the  ships  of  Requesens  when  he 
came  for  the  capture  of  Middleburg,  and  you  drove 
them  shattered  to  Antwerp ;  how  you  were  com 
ing  for  the  relief  of  Ley  den;  and  finally,  how  you 
did  relieve  it,  and  Leyden  was  rejoicing  in  her  de 
liverance  ;  and  I  left  Johnny  with  Lady  Egmond, 
and  flew  over  here  on  purpose  to  alight  upon  you. 
Did  you  think  I  should  not  find  you  out  ?  " 

"  You  must  indeed  have  been  the  blessed  omen 
before  which  the  storm  was  rolling  away.  I  sent 
you  three  letters,  all  of  which,  doubtless,  were 
clutched  by  Alva's  spies.  I  did  not  join  the  fleet 
of  Admiral  Mark,  as  I  first  intended,  for  I  heard  of 
his  brutality,  and  did  not  care  to  serve  under  him. 
But  you  must  go  back  to  Amsterdam,  and  not  trust 
your  pretty  wings  here  among  the  thunderbolts." 

"  Nay,  I  shall  keep  about  you,  for  by  and  by 
the  thunderbolts  will  alight  upon  you,  and  the 
Spanish  shot  will  get  hold  of  you,  and  you  will  lie 
wounded  in  your  hammock,  with  nobody  to  give 
you  water  or  bathe  your  head  when  the  fever  rages; 
and  then  you  will  die  without  your  birdy." 


CHAPTER    XVI. 


"  No  eye  can  follow  to  a  fatal  place 
That  power  of  Freedom,  whether  on  the  wing, 
Like  the  strong  wind,  or  sleeping  like  the  wind 
"Within  its  awful  caves."  —  WORDSWORTH. 


IT  does  not  fall  in  with  our  plan  to  write  the  his 
tory  of  these  times,  any  farther  than  it  connects  it 
self  with  our  family  story.  For  a  knowledge  of  the 
rest  of  it,  the  reader  must  look  into  larger  books  and 
learn  its  important  lessons;  —  how  Providence  inter 
posed  directly,  once  and  again,  to  save  the  little 
country  of  heroic  men  and  women,  and  deflected 
the  thunderbolt  from  them  when  actually  descend 
ing; —  how  three  hundred  vessels,  commanded  by 
Don  Pedro  di  Menendez,  a  "  valiant  and  able  cap 
tain,"  were  got  ready  and  lay  in  the  Bay  of  Biscay, 
with  fifteen  thousand  troops  on  board,  all  ready  to 
sail,  wrhen  the  plague  broke  out  among  them,  and 
swept  off  half  their  number,  with  Don  Pedro  him 
self,  and  Philip  had  to  abandon  the  enterprise;  — 
how  Requesens  had  laid  his  plans  of  operation, 
and  seemed  already  to  have  got  Holland  fast  in  his 
net,  so  that  Orange  himself  despaired,  and  proposed 
to  the  people  to  collect  all  the  vessels,  put  their 


THE    ADVENTURER.  255 

wives  and  little  ones  on  board,  and  open  all  the 
dikes  and  flood  the  country  with  destruction,  and 
then  bid  a  last  farewell  to  their  fatherland,  and  sail 
away  to  some  distant  shore,  on  which  the  curse  of 
Spanish  tyranny  had  not  fallen  ;  —  how  just  then  a 
pestilential  fever  carried  Requesens  to  his  grave, 
and  his  unpaid  troops  mutinied  and  fell  into  disor 
der,  and  his  last  feeble  garrisons  in  Haarlem  and  a 
few  other  Dutch  towns  were  driven  out,  and  left 
Holland  never  to  return ;  —  how  the  potent  voice  of 
Orange  summoned  the  northern  provinces  to  form 
a  union  against  the  Spaniard,  and  how  the  famous 
"  Union  of  Utrecht"  arose  under  his  masterly  states 
manship,  embracing  Holland,  Zealand,  and  Utrecht, 
to  which  afterwards  were  added  Friesland,  Gron- 
ingen,  Overyssel,  and  Guelderland,  the  seven  north 
ern  provinces  embraced  in  one  indissoluble  bond ;  — 
how,  when  she  had  paid  out  her  last  farthing,  and 
her  coffers  were  all  empty,  she  found  an  inexhaust 
ible  mine  in  her  unsullied  probity  and  honor,  so 
that  her  bills  of  credit  were  always  at  par,  and  more 
current  than  fine  gold,  and  kept  her  troops  paid  and 
clothed  and  in  discipline,  while  at  the  same  time 
the  King  of  Spain,  who  commanded  the  wealth  of 
two  worlds,  but  repudiated  his  debts,  saw  his  troops 
mutiny  and  turn  into  bands  of  robbers  to  prey  upon 
the  provinces  that  had  continued  loyal  to  him,  till 
even  the  Catholic  Netherlands  became  disgusted 
with  his  service  ;  —  how  Holland  found  at  length  a 
generous  ally  in  Elizabeth,  who  sent  both  troops  and 
money;  —  how  Philip  equipped  new  armies,  and 
sent  over  as  their  grand  commander  the  Duke  of 


256  THE    ADVENTURER. 

Parma,  the  experienced  and  accomplished  general ; 
—  how  Parma  worked  ten  years  in  the  Netherlands, 
and  reduced  town  after  town,  till  the  tide  of  conquest 
had  rolled  up  to  the  very  borders  of  Holland,  and 
even  crossed  over  it,  and  she  seemed  about  to  fall 
before  it,  when  Parma  was  carried  off  by  sickness, 
and  the  tide  of  conquest  rolled  back  again ;  —  how 
valiantly  the  burghers  and  their  wives  defended 
Maestricht,  the  key  to  the  entrance  of  the  Meuse 
from  the  German  side,  and  how,  when  Parma's 
troops  undertook  to  mount  the  breach  in  the  walls, 
the  Dutch  peasants  broke  their  heads  with  their 
flails,  and  the  Dutch  women  poured  over  them  burn 
ing  pitch,  so  that  those  whose  heads  escaped  un- 
threshed  retreated,  maddened  and  bellowing,  and 
died  miserably  under  their  garments  of  clinging 
fire ;  —  how  Philip  and  his  priests  and  generals 
sought  the  death  of  Orange  by  hired  and  secret  as 
sassins,  since  they  could  not  conquer  him  in  the 
field,  till  at  last  they  succeeded,  and  Orange  fell  by 
the  weapon  of  his  own  servant  in  his  own  house  at 
the  Hague,  exclaiming,  "  God  have  mercy  upon  me 
and  my  poor  country! "  —  how  the  Spaniard  exulted, 
and  how  Holland  sat  down  in  grief  and  despair,  and 
grovelled  on  the  grave  of  her  fallen  martyr ;  —  how 
the  awful  crime  recoiled  on  the  perpetrators,  to  their 
own  defeat  and  confusion,  since  in  the  place  of  Or 
ange  came  up  his  valiant  son  Maurice,  who  excelled 
his  father  in  military  skill,  and  never  lost  a  battle 
with  the  Spaniard,  and  to  supply  the  statesmanship 
of  Orange  arose  Owen  Barneveldt,  "the  advocate 
of  Holland,"  whose  wisdom,  forecast,  prudence,  in- 


THE    ADVENTURER.  257 

tegrity,  and  patriotism  have  given  a  savor  to  his 
name  throughout  the  world ;  —  how,  under  Maurice 
and  Barneveldt,  Holland  with  the  seven  provinces 
rose  along  the  little  border  around  the  Zuyder  Zee, 
covered  with  strength  and  glory;  —  how  her  army 
drove  the  Spaniard  over  the  Meuse,  and  kept  him 
there  ;  —  how,  while  her  right  hand  kept  the  enemy 
at  bay,  with  her  left  she  cultivated  the  fields,  and 
the  polders  bloomed  anew,  and  waved  and  nodded 
with  golden  grain,  and  the  blackened  waste  where 
the  Spaniard  had  trodden  grew  green  and  flourished ; 
—  how  her  commerce  flourished  too,  and  her  mer 
chant-ships  doubled  the  Cape  of  Good  Hope,  and 
brought  back  the  wealth  of  the  Indies,  and  the  won 
derful  anomaly  was  witnessed  of  a  little  state  pro 
tecting  her  industry,  nourishing  within  her  borders 
all  the  arts  of  peace,  and  sending  her  sails  around 
the  globe,  while  at  the  same  time  she  waged  a  de 
fensive  war  against  the  richest  and  most  powerful 
monarchy  in  Europe ;  —  how  thousands  of  the  per 
secuted  and  oppressed  of  all  nations,  and  especially 
of  the  Spanish  Netherlands,  crowded  into  the  seven 
provinces,  and  more  than  all  into  Holland,  to  enjoy 
security  and  protection  under  her  banners,  and  build 
up  noble  cities  and  factories  within  her  borders,  and 
make  the  arts  of  peace  flourish  within  the  very 
sound  of  war ;  —  how  at  the  same  time  the  Spanish 
Netherlands  over  the  Meuse,  who  would  not  throw 
off  the  yoke,  but  thought  to  have  protection  under  it, 
were  emptied  of  their  best  population  and  went  to 
ruin ;  —  how  the  once  smiling  pastures  ran  waste, 
and  wild-boars  and  wolves  prowled  in  the  deserted 

22* 


258  THE    ADVENTURER. 

cities,  and  nourished  their  young  on  couches  be 
neath  whose  gorgeous  tapestry  the  nobility  had 
slept,  and  dogs  ran  about  and  howled  piteously  for 
their  masters,  and  the  public  ways  were  filled  with 
copse  and  brier,  and  in  the  once  busy  towns  of 
Flanders  and  Brabant  the  members  of  noble  fam 
ilies  crept  by  night  out  of  their  wretched  abodes  to 
search  the  streets  for  bones  and  offal ;  —  how  terri 
bly  the  prophecy  of  Orange  to  Egmond  was  fulfilled, 
You  will  let  in  the  Spaniard  over  your  dead  body 
to  ruin  your  country  ;  and  that  other  prophecy  over 
the  smoking  blood  of  Egmond,  It  will  be  avenged 
as  sure  as  there  is  a  God  who  is  looking  on ;  —  how 
Philip  made  one  desperate  effort  to  conquer  Hol 
land,  and  avenge  himself  on  Elizabeth,  because  she 
had  aided  his  enemies,  arid  how  he  sent  forth  the 
"  Invincible  Armada,"  which  came  into  the  Channel, 
spread  out  like  a  half-moon,  sweeping  the  sea  to 
right  and  left  through  a  breadth  of  seven  miles,  and 
expecting  to  be  joined  at  Dunkirk  by  the  fleet  in  the 
Netherlands  ;  —  how  Elizabeth's  fore-admiral,  How 
ard,  and  her  rear-admiral,  "  the  worshipfull  and  re 
nowned  John  Hawkins,"  fell  upon  the  Armada  and 
scattered  it  to  the  four  winds,  which  sent  it  in  turn 
to  the  bottom  of  the  sea,  and  how  the  fleet  in  the 
Netherlands  never  came  to  Dunkirk,  because  the 
Water  Gueux  lay  watching  it  grim  as  death,  and 
ready  to  pounce  upon  it ;  —  how  Spain,  after  a  war 
of  forty  years,  through  which  she  tried  in  vain  to 
force  the  Inquisition  on  Holland,  and  squandered 
her  treasures  and  wasted  her  men,  finally  gave  over, 
collapsed,  exhausted,  and  poor,  and  cowered  before 


THE  ADVENTURER.  259 

her  foe,  and  drew  off  her  troops,  while  Holland  rose 
from  the  waves  in  her  independence,  wealth,  and 
glory  ;  —  for  all  this  the  reader  must  consult  the  an 
nals  of  the  little  state  whose  territory,  as  we  have 
already  said,  might  be  laid  within  the  borders  of 
Connecticut.  Wonderful  people !  we  say  again  ;  — 
your  history  is  fraught  with  more  lessons,  moral  and 
political,  than  Thucydides  or  Tacitus  has  pointed 
out ;  your  women  had  more  of  greatness  than  be 
longs  to  common  men,  and  your  deeds  are  wor 
thy  to  be  told  in  Homer's  majestic  rhythm,  and  to 
be  set  to  his  eternal  music.  This  was  the  people 
that  offered  an  asylum  to  our  forefathers,  and  this 
is  the  way  the  asylum  was  procured  and  guarded, 
when  there  was  no  other  spot  in  the  civilized  world 
that  offered  a  protection  from  the  wolves  of  perse 
cution.* 

*  The  history  of  this  marvellous  people  has  never  been  popular 
ized  as  it  deserves  to  be.  Schiller's  "  Thirty  Years'  War  "  is  written 
with  great  spirit,  but  it  stops  short  with  the  execution  of  Egmond  and 
Hoorn,  —  the  very  point  where  the  reader  is  most  anxious  to  go  on. 
Davies's  "  History  of  Holland,"  an  expensive  English  work  in  three 
volumes,  which  we  have  referred  to  above,  and  often  followed,  is  ex 
cellent. 


Since  this  note  and  these  pages  were  written,  two  works  have  ap 
peared, —  Prescott's  Philip  II.  and  Motley's  History  of  the  Dutch 
Kepublic.  It  would  be  superfluous  to  praise  works  of  such  unrivalled 
merit. 


CHAPTER    XVII. 


"  I  have  ever  looked,  when  that  in  these  long  stormes  and  tempestes 
of  warres,  there  would  some  fayre  weather  or  clereness  of  peace  shine 
upon  us  out  of  one  quarter  or  other."  —  UDAL. 


SCENE  changes  again.  Bessie  did  indeed  go 
back  to  Amsterdam.  But  through  the  eyes  of  Sir 
John  Sayer,  one  of  the  secretaries  of  Orange,  she 
kept  a  bright  outlook  over  the  passing  drama,  es 
pecially  when  the  events  crowded  and  thickened 
around  her  husband,  who  was  serving  among  the 
Zealanders  under  Admiral  Boisot.  Once  only  did 
her  prediction  come  near  its  fulfilment,  for  Nimble 
John  is  slung  in  his  hammock,  as  his  ship  lies  in  the 
harbors  of  Flushing;  and  he  is  brought  there,  not  by 
Spanish  shot,  but  by  a  pestilential  fever,  and  for 
more  than  a  week  has  been  counting  the  chances  of 
life  and  death.  His  wife  flies  again  over  the  waves, 
and  makes  her  way  among  grisly  Water  Gueux, 
till  she  finds  the  hammock  of  the  sick  man;  and  she 
does  not  leave  it  till  she  has  raised  him  from  it,  and 
seen  him  walking  the  deck  of  his  vessel.  But  in- 

o 

ternal  order  and  prosperity  come  at  length  to  Hol 
land,  even  while  war  is  bristling  and  growling  all 
along  her  frontier;  for  the  last  Spaniard  is  driven 


THE    ADVENTURER.  261 

out,  and  the  young  and  valiant  Maurice  keeps  him 
out  with  his  little  army  of  invincible  Dutchmen. 
Leyden  and  Haarlem  and  Naarden  rise  elastic 
from  the  dust.  A  twelve  years'  truce  is  finally 
agreed  upon,  and  the  Spaniard  retires,  sullen  and- 
baffled,  from  the  Netherlands. 

On  the  Princen  Graat  the  same  old  house  is 
standing  in  which  the  exiles  Richard  Sayer  arid 
the  Lady  Anne  looked  their  last  upon  this  world, 
and  in  which  Job  sang  to  it  his  last  snatches  of  song ; 
and  the  same  old  chestnut-tree  brushes  its  leaves 
against  the  windows.  Hither  has  Nimble  John  re 
tired  at  last  from  all  his  adventures ;  the  house  has 
passed  into  his  hands,  its  walls  fragrant  with  sweet 
and  pensive  memories,  arid  into  it  he  has  transferred 
the  flamingo,  whose  wing  has  hovered  about  him 
through  all  his  escapes  and  troubles.  His  ships  lie 
in  the  harbors  of  Amsterdam,  among  that  endless 
forest  of  masts  ;  they  come  and  go,  and  bring  to 
him  wealth  and  prosperity.  And  here  we  must 
take  our  leave  of  the  son  of  the  exile,  since  we 
have  seen  him  safe  through  all  his  adventures,  re 
turned  at  last  beneath  the  shelter  of  his  father's 
tree.  But  before  we  bid  him  a  final  farewell,  the 
reader  will  step  in  for  a  single  moment  at  the  house 
of  the  Princen  Graat,  and  see  how  it  fares  with  the 
inmates.  Have  a  care,  however,  for  that  great 
Dutch  girl  has  trundled  her  water-engine  in  front  of 
the  house,  and  is  ejecting  its  contents  against  the 
second-story  windows,  and  the  spray  is  descending 
all  over  the  yard.  We  think  she  must  be  a  relative 
of  some  of  those  women  that  threw  rocks  on  the 


262  THE    ADVENTURER. 

heads  of  the  Spaniards  from  the  walls  of  Alkmaar,  or 
gave  them  a  hot-tar  bath  at  Maestricht ;  and  she  does 
not  look  and  act  now  as  if  she  had  any  intention  of 
"  going  into  decline."     But  what  means  this  hydro- 
mania  of  Katreen  van  der  Speigle  ?  for  we  cannot 
see  that  the  house  is  on  fire,  and  she  is  drenching 
us  as  she  did  the  Spaniards  before  Leyden.     It  is 
only  a  trick  which  Dutch  women  have  of  keeping 
clean  outside  as  well  as  inside ;  and  as  you  enter  the 
house,  the  trace  of  Katreen's  hand  is  everywhere 
seen.     There  is  no  grain  of  dust,  except  what  you  are 
bringing  in  yourself,  —  no  speck  on  the  white  cur 
tains  ;  and  from  the  polished  brass  on  the  doors  and 
andirons  your  own  distorted  face  is  shining  bright. 
You  find  at  last  our  friend  Bessie  in  the  rnidst  of 
her  household,  but  the  rose  colors  are  less  brilliant 
on  her  cheek,  and  she  is  no  longer  the  red  flamingo. 
But  she  has  not  lost  her  native  mirthfulness,  nor 
any  of  the  genial  sunshine  from  the  open  and  be 
nevolent   face   that   first   rayed   into  the    heart   of 
Nimble  John  when  he  came  out  of  the  long  deliri 
um  of  his  fever.     Little  Johnny  Bourchier  is  grown 
up  into  great  Johnny,  spite  of  teething  and  croup, 
and  three  younger  specimens,  Henry,  William,  and 
Richard,  have  all  come,  to  go  through  teething  and 
croup  in  their  turn,  besides  measles,  mumps,  influ 
enzas,  and  the  whole  train  of  juvenile  calamities. 
How  they  all  get  through  safe  is   a  wonder,  and 
why  babies  were  not  bom  with  teeth  ready  made 
was  always  a  painful  mystery  to  us.     Reasoning 
metaphysically,  and  taking  the  "  a  priori  road,"  you 
would   not   come   to   the   conclusion   that  Nature 


i       THE    ADVENTURER.  263 

would  turn  out  her  work  unfinished,  and  leave  a 
very  important  implement  of  our  human  economy 
to  be  painfully  furnished  at  the  hands  of  Doctor 
Pomp,  but  so  it  is  ;  and  John,  Henry,  William,  and 
Richard  have  all  got  furnished  at  last,  at  some 
body's  hands,  and  are  tumbling  at  large  in  the 
leadings  of  Providence.  Nimble  John,  after  all  his 
adventures,  is  happy  at  home  in  the  peace  and  the 
love-light  which  Bessie  diffuses  through  his  house 
hold.  His  black  hair  has  become  threaded  with 
silver;  some  wrinkles  have  gathered  on  his  brow, 
but  his  eye  looks  out  from  under  them  bright  and 
piercing  as  ever.  But  he  has  roamed  the  world  till 
he  is  satisfied,  and  will  be  content  to  leave  it  amid 
the  angel  sympathies  that  first  shed  their  beams 
around  his  pillow  from  the  face  of  Bessie  Haw 
kins. 

Lady  Egmond  has  bent  lower  and  lower  under 
the  weight  of  sorrow  and  years,  the  curves  of  be 
nevolence  under  her  eyes  growing  larger  and  deeper 
to  the  last,  till  her  aged  frame  has  sunk  into  the 
grave,  and  the  gentle  touch  of  Death  has  turned  the 
woman  into  the  angel,  or  rather  disclosed  the  angel 
that  tabernacled  in  mortality,  in  brighter  robes.  Of 
her  eight  granddaughters,  four  have  become  mar 
ried  and  three  have  become  nuns,  —  one  of  them, 
Jenne,  is  Prioress  of  St.  Elizabeth's  cloister  in 
Brussels.  The  unmarried  one  is  living  at  the 
Hague.  The  three  sons,  Philip,  Lamoral,  and 
Charles,  are  living  still,  and  we  shall  hear  of  Philip 
by  and  by. 

As   for   "the   renowned    and   worshipfull    John 


264  THE    ADVENTURER. 

Hawkins,"  he  recovered  from  the  disasters  of  his 
last  missionary  voyage,  did  valiant  service  for  the 
Queen  in  the  fight  with  the  Invincible  Armada, 
and  became  knighted  therefor.  He  was  promoted 
to  the  office  of  Treasurer  of  the  Navy,  was  much 
consulted  in  maritime  affairs,  was  sent  with  Sir 
Francis  Drake  against  the  Spaniards  in  the  West 
Indies,  was  unsuccessful  in  the  expedition,  and  died 
at  sea.  Whereupon  Mrs.  Hawkins  wept  and  prayed, 
and  said  she  always  knew  that  an  evil  star  was  to 
hang  over  him  since  those  dreadful  missionary  voy 
ages,  for  which  she  hoped  God  would  forgive  him 
before  the  coming  of  the  great  day.  And  for  this 
forgiveness  she  spent  the  rest  of  her  life  in  making 
supplication,  and  died  happily  under  the  assuaging 
influence  of  Doctor  Pomp's  powders  and  the  bright 
ening  hopes  of  a  benevolent  and  pious  mind. 

As  for  Bessie,  she  has  enough  to  do  at  present  in 
bringing  up  those  four  boys,  and  we  cannot  help 
sympathizing  with  her  in  such  a  charge.  How 
will  they  turn  out,  and  what  will  become  of  them  ? 
What  use  will  they  make  of  their  teeth,  now  they 
are  all  fairly  and  safely  through?  Will  they  use 
them  for  the  purposes  intended,  or  will  they  gnash 
with  them  upon  Spaniards,  or,  what  is  worse  and 
more  inexcusable,  upon  mankind  in  general  ?  Will 
they  turn  the  world  upside  down  and  downside  up, 
as  they  do  the  nursery  and  the  parlor,  or  will  they 
help  set  the  world  at  rights,  which  certainly  needs 
righting  if  ever  a  world  did  ?  Alas  !  we  cannot  tell ; 
for  we  have  no  horoscope  which  we  can  cast,  and 
we  and  Bessie  must  wait  anxiously  for  your  devel- 


THE  ADVENTURER.  265 

opments,  O  John,  Henry,  William,  and  Richard! 
One  thing  is  certain,  —  and  it  is  a  very  important 
thing  in  juvenile  education,  —  ye  never  will  be 
lacking  in  external  order  and  purification  so  long 
as  Katreen  van  der  Speigle  has  charge  of  the 
kitchen  and  the  laundry,  and  trundles  the  hydraulic 
engine. 


•  23 


PART     III. 

THE    PILGRIM. 


"  I  vow  to  God  I  would  sooner  bring  myself  to  put  a  man  to  im 
mediate  death  for  opinions  I  disliked,  and  so  get  rid  of  the  man  and 
his  opinions  at  once,  than  to  fret  him  with  a  feverish  being,  tainted 
with  the  jail-distemper  of  contagious  servitude,"  —  BURKE. 


We  read  of  faith  and  purest  charity 

In  statesman,  priest,  and  humble  citizen. 

O  could  we  copy  their  mild  virtues,  then 

What  joy  to  live,  what  blessedness  to  die  ! 

Methinks  their  very  names  shine  still  and  bright, 

Apart,  like  glow-worms  in  the  woods  of  Spring." 

WORDSWORTH. 


CHAPTER   I. 


"  We  saw  the  army  of  the  League  drawn  out  in  long  array, 
With  all  its  priest-led  citizens  and  all  its  rebel  peers, 
And  Appenzel's  stout  infantry  and  Egmond's  Flemish  spears." 

Battle  oflvry. 

ON  the  evening  before  his  execution,  when  the 
Count  of  Egmond  was  repeating  the  Lord's  Prayer, 
as  the  words  most  befitting  his  awful  condition,  the 
thoughts  of  his  family  interrupted  him.  They  clung 
tenderly  to  the  loved  ones  he  was  to  leave  behind 
him.  His  devotions  were  suspended ;  he  called  for 
pen  and  paper,  and  wrote  two  letters,  one  to  his 
wife  and  one  to  the  King.  That  to  the  King  was 
as  follows :  — 

«  Sire  : This  morning  I  received  the  sentence 

which  your  Majesty  has  been  pleased  to  pass  upon 
me.  Far  as  I  have  ever  been  from  attempting 
anything  against  the  person  or  the  service  of  your 
Majesty,  or  against  the  only  true,  old,  and  Catholic 
religion,  I  yet  submit  myself  with  patience  to  the 
fate  which  it  has  pleased  God  to  ordain  I  should 
suffer.  If,  during  the  past  disturbances,  I  have 
omitted,  advised,  or  done  anything  that  seems  at 

23* 


270  THE    PILGRIM. 

variance  with  my  duty,  it  was  most  assuredly  per 
formed  with  the  best  intentions,  or  was  forced  upon 
me  by  the  pressure  of  circumstances.  I  therefore 
pray  your  Majesty  to  forgive  me,  and,  in  considera 
tion  of  my  past  services,  show  mercy  to  my  un 
happy  wife  and  my  poor  children  and  servants. 
In  a  firm  hope  of  this,  I  commend  myself  to  the 
infinite  mercy  of  God. 

"  Your  Majesty's  most  faithful  vassal  and  servant, 
"LAMORAL  COUNT  EGMOND. 

"  Brussels,  June  5th,  1568,  near  my  last  moments." 

The  "  unhappy  "  but  faithful  wife  who  was  thus 
the  object  of  such  tender  solicitude  to  her  husband 
in  his  last  hour,  was  Sabrina  of  Bavaria,  daughter 
of  the  Count  Palatine  John,  and  sister  of  Frederick, 
afterwards  Count  Palatine  and  Elector.  She  was 
a  woman  of  rare  beauty  and  accomplishments,  and 
she  tried  every  art  which  affection  could  devise  to 
save  her  husband  from  his  fate.  After  sentence 
had  been  passed,  she  sought  an  interview  with 
Alva,  and  begged  for  his  life  with  all  her  womanly 
eloquence.  "  Take  comfort,  madam,"  was  Alva's 
reply,  "  your  husband  shall  be  released  to-morrow." 
She  did  not  see  the  cruel  irony  that  lurked  in  these 
words,  and  went  away  in  the  belief  that  he  was  to 
be  pardoned  and  restored  to  his  family. 

She  was  overwhelmed  by  the  event,  being  re 
duced  to  abject  poverty  and  despair.  Egmond's 
letter  seems  not  to  have  touched  the  heart  of  the 
treacherous  bigot  at  Madrid.  Alva  himself  was 
affected  at  the  sight  of  her  misfortunes,  and  relieved 


THE    PILGRIM,  271 

her  wants  from  his  own  purse,  and  wrote  to  the 
King  in  her  behalf.  He  tells  the  King  that  she  is 
the  most  wretched  of  women,  and  has  to  beg  her 
daily  food  after  nightfall,  or  pick  it  up  in  the  streets 
of  Brussels.  Relief  from  poverty,  however,  came  at 
last.  The  family  were  afterwards  placed  in  posses 
sion  again  of  the  property,  which  by  virtue  of  the 
sentence  had  escheated  to  the  King. 

Philip,  eldest  son  of  the  murdered  Count,  was 
born  in  1558,  and  was  therefore  about  ten  years 
of  age  at  the  time  of  his  father's  death.  The 
intolerable  wrongs  which  the  tyrant  had  inflicted 
upon  his  family,  a  father's  blood  crying  from  the 
ground,  and  a  mother's  woes  appealing  even  to  the 
marble  heart  of  Alva,  ought  to  have  roused  the  son 
against  the  tyranny  that  was  crushing  the  Nether 
lands.  But  it  did  not.  He  must  have  inherited  his 
father's  disposition  to  fawn  upon  royalty,  and  live 
only  by  its  favors.  He  had  no  sooner  reached  man 
hood,  than  he  espoused  warmly  the  royal  cause 
against  the  States,  much  to  the  surprise  and  mor 
tification  of  the  friends  of  his  late  father. 

There  had  been  a  temporary  lull  in  the  disturb 
ances  of  the  Netherlands,  after  the  famous  truce 
called  the  "  Pacification  of  Ghent."  But  it  was 
soon  broken,  and  a  party  called  the  "  Malecontents," 
under  the  lead  of  Monti gny,  raised  again  the  royal 
standard,  and  renewed  the  war.  He  succeeded  in 
drawing  over  young  Egmond  to  his  party,  and  ga\e 
him  command  of  a  regiment  of  infantry.* 

*  Davies  says  that  Charles  Egmond,  son  of  the  murdered  Count, 


THE    PILGRIM. 

Before  his  change  of  sentiments  was  known,  he 
brought  his  regiment  into  Brussels,  with  the  design 
of  making  himself  master  of  the  city.  He  marched 
into  the  Horse- Market,  and,  by  a  most  remarkable 
coincidence,  halted  on  the  very  spot  where  his  fa 
ther  had  been  executed,  and  on  the  same  day  of 
the  month,  just  eleven  years  before.  The  wary 
burghers,  suspecting  his  intentions,  quickly  barri 
caded  all  the  streets  leading  to  the  Horse-Market,  so 
that  he  remained  closely  cooped  up  within  it,  with 
out  the  power  of  escape.  There  for  twenty-four 
hours  they  kept  him  and  his  men,  without  food  or 
drink ;  and  they  did  not  fail  to  assail  his  ears  with 
taunts  the  most  cutting  and  bitter,  for  his  defection 
from  the  popular  cause.  The  populace  thronged 
the  streets  and  the  tops  of  the  buildings,  or  mounted 
the  barricades,  and  poured  their  jeers  upon  him  till 
he  wept  for  vexation  and  shame. 

"  Do  you  remember  that  in  that  place  your  father 
lost  his  head  ?  " 

"  Have  you  come  in  that  guise  to  visit  his  grave?" 

"  Lift  up  two  or  three  stones,  and  you  will  see 
your  father's  blood." 


is  the  person  here  alluded  to.  This  cannot  be,  if  my  genealogy  is 
correct.  I  have  a  list  of  all  the  children  of  the  Count,  with  names 
and  dates  specified  so  minutely,  that  it  must  have  been  copied  from 
authentic  family  records.  According  to  this,  Charles  was  an  infant 
child  when  his  father  was  executed,  and  therefore  could  not  have 
been  in  command  of  infantry  eleven  years  later,  —  whereas  Philip 
was  ten  years  old  at  his  father's  death,  was  his  eldest  son,  and  was 
therefore  twenty-one  years  old  when  these  transactions  occurred. 
I  infer,  therefore,  that  Philip,  and  not  Charles,  was  the  person  al 
luded  to. 


THE    PILGRIM.  273 

The  burghers  had  him  completely  in  their  power ; 
but  on  that  spot  they  could  not  raise  a  hand  against 
the  son  whose  father's  blood  they  had  sworn  to 
avenge  ;  and  after  these  bitter  reproaches  they  threw 
down  the  barricades  and  let  him  go.  He  marched 
out  with  his  infantry,  being  stung  with  chagrin,  and 
perhaps  remorse ;  but  he  met  with  better  success  a 
few  days  after,  in  surprising  and  capturing  the  town 
of  Ninhoven. 

During  the  progress  of  the  war  in  the  Nether 
lands,  France  became  the  scene  of  civil  strife  be 
tween  the  Catholics  and  the  Huguenots.  The  Cath 
olics  had  formed  the  celebrated  "  League,"  under 
the  lead  of  the  Duke  of  Guise,  had  triumphed  in 
every  part  of  the  kingdom,  and  were  in  possession 
of  the  capital.  The  Huguenots,  with  Henry  of  Na 
varre  at  their  head,  lately  proclaimed  King  on  the 
assassination  of  Henry  III.,  were  gaining  strength 
and  besieging  the  capital,  when  Philip  of  Spain 
ordered  a  detachment  from  the  army  in  the  Neth 
erlands  to  support  the  Catholic  cause,  "  If,"  he 
writes  to  Parma,  "  you  wish  to  make  me  forget  the 
destruction  of  the  Armada,  succor  my  good  city  of 
Paris." 

Parma,  therefore,  sent  a  strong  detachment  under 
the  command  of  Philip  Egmond,  who  joined  the 
Leaguers  just  before  the  battle  of  Ivry.  In  that 
battle  Philip  Egmond  was  slain,  and  nearly  all  his 
troops  cut  to  pieces,  and  the  Huguenots  gained  a 
complete  and  brilliant  victory.  It  is  the  subject  of 
one  of  Macaulay's  most  stirring  ballads,  in  which 
Egmond  is  alluded  to. 


274  THE    PILGRIM. 

"  Now  God  be  praised,  the  day  is  ours  !  Mayenne  hath  turned  his  rein, 
D'Aumale  hath  cried  for  quarter,  the  Flemish  count  is  slain ; 
Their  ranks  are  breaking  like  thin  clouds  before  a  Biscay  gale ; 
The  field  is  heaped  with  bleeding  steeds,  and  flags,  and  cloven  mail." 

So  ended  the  life  of  Philip,  eldest  son  of  Count 
Lamoral  Egmond.  Ingloriously  it  ended  we  should 
say,  for  it  was  devoted  to  a  cause  whose  injus 
tice  had  crushed  his  father,  broken  the  heart  of  his 
mother,  and  sent  his  sisters  into  convents  to  pine 
with  sorrow.  He  is  said  even  to  have  insulted  his 
father's  memory  for  the  sake  of  gaining  the  royal 
favor.  He  had  his  reward.  He  obtained  that  fa 
vor,  and  his  paternal  estates  were  restored  to  him ; 
but  he  lost  his  life  fighting  side  by  side  with  those 
whose  hands  were  yet  red  with  the  massacre  of  St. 
Bartholomew,  for  such  were  the  Leaguers  who  fell 
at  the  battle  of  Ivry.  He  was  thirty-two  years  old 
when  his  career  closed.  He  had  married  Marie 
van  Home,  sister  of  the  Count  of  Houtkerke,  who 
had  married  Leonora,  his  eldest  sister. 

The  histories  say  that  Philip  Egmond  died  with 
out  issue.*  My  genealogical  memorials  say  "  with 
out  issue  male,"  and  that  he  probably  left  an  only 
child  and  daughter,  Marie  Lamoral  Egmond.  Cer 
tainly  we  find  Marie  Lamoral  Egmond,  daughter 
of  Philip  Egmond,  living  soon  after  at  Amsterdam. 
God  be  merciful  to  her,  and  shield  her  from  the 
storms ! 

John  Bourchier  Sayer,  whom  we  have  surnamed 
the  Nimble,  died  in  Amsterdam,  and  we  suppose 
that  he  and  his  beloved  Bessie  slept  together  at  last 
with  the  English  exiles.  What  became  of  all  their 


THE    PILGRIM.  275 

children  we  do  not  know.  But  their  little  Johnny, 
who  first  opened  his  eyes  at  Plymouth  on  his  moth 
er  and  Doctor  Pomp,  came  up  bravely  in  some  way 
through  croup  and  scarlet-fever,  and  ripened  into 
manhood.  Through  the  hydraulic  operations  of 
Katreen  van  der  Speigle  he  came  forth  healthful 
and  strong,  and  meeting  somehow  and  somewhere 
Marie  Lamoral  Egmond,  the  orphan  girl,  we  sup 
pose  they  went  through  all  the  preliminaries  of  love 
and  courtship.  At  any  rate,  they  were  married,  and 
lived,  as  we  imagine,  in  the  old  house  on  the  Princen 
Graat.  The  accounts  say  that  he  acquired  through 
her  a  large  fortune,  principally  in  money.  He  made 
long  and  strenuous  efforts  to  recover  also  his  own 
ancestral  estates  in  England,  but  in  vain. 

A  few  years  after  this  marriage,  a  little  boy  who 
was  the  fruit  of  it  might  be  seen  in  the  streets  of 
Amsterdam,  playing  on  the  Princen  Graat,  plash 
ing  in  the  canal,  and  lounging  under  the  linden- 
trees.  Fortunately,  his  face  has  been  preserved  by 
the  painter,  and  it  appears  to  us  as  if  more  of 
Egmond  blood  than  English  were  mantling  in  his 
cheeks.  He  has  a  mild  blue  eye,  a  florid  counte 
nance  that  looks  inexpressibly  sweet,  ruby  lips, 
bright  yellow  hair  that  hangs  curling  down  his 
neck ;  and  he  wears  the  appearance  of  a  sensitive 
amiability  that  shrinks  from  the  wrongs  and  con 
flicts  of  this  turbulent  world.  Ah!  he  has  come 
into  it  at  the  wrong  time,  and  in  the  wrong  place, 
as  we  shall  very  soon  have  occasion  to  see.  This 
is  RICHARD  THE  PILGRIM,  the  subject  of  the  story 
which  we  now  have  in  hand.  The  dates  of  his 


276  THE    PILGRIM. 

birth  are  provokingly  variant  and  irreconcilable,  but 
the  true  date  must  have  been  something  earlier  than 
1600.  The  Spanish  war  was  soon  over  after  that, 
but  upon  what  other  conflict  scarcely  less  fierce 
and  virulent  did  the  amiable  little  fellow  open  his 
eyes !  or  how  did  he  get  startled  by  it  from  his 
boy-dreams,  as  he  plashed  in  the  lazy  canal! 


CHAPTER    II. 


Backward  to  the  Past  I  wandered, 
To  the  old,  white-bearded  Past ; 

Then  he  bade  me  sit  beside  him, 
By  the  hand  he  held  me  fast." 


JOHN  BOURCHIER  SAYER,  the  son  of  Nimble  John 
and  his  wife,  Marie  L.  Egmond,  were  Catholics. 
Long  and  bitter  and  unavailing  was  the  contro 
versy  with  his  Protestant  kinsfolk  at  Colchester, 
England.  They  were  determined  to  keep  him  ex 
cluded  from  his  paternal  estates,  and  they  even 
charged  him  with  complicity  in  the  "  Gunpowder 
Plot,"  and  threatened  to  bring  him  to  punishment 
for  it,  should  be  set  foot  in  England.  Our  young 
Richard,  then,  the  pensive  boy  with  the  yellow  locks, 
is  to  be  educated  in  the  Catholic  faith,  through  the 
instructions  of  both  the  parents.  A  difficult  task 
they  will  have  of  it,  we  imagine,  where  the  whole 
air  is  reeking  with  Protestantism.  We  imagine, 
too,  that,  when  the  boy  gets  old  enough,  he  will  ask 
who  murdered  his  grandfather,  and  who  killed  the 
Prince  of  Orange,  and  by  what  means. 

The  forty  years'  struggle  of  the  Netherlands  with 
Spain  had  now  come  to  a  close,  and  tales  of  indi- 

24 


278  THE    PILGRIM. 

vidual  prowess,  heroism,  and  suffering  had  become 
nursery  stories,  to  fire  the  imagination  of  the  next 
generation,  and  make  its  hatred  burn  unrelentingly 
against  the  Spaniard  and  his  religion.  Such  tales 
make  a  more  indelible  impression  upon  the  young 
mind  than  histories  of  sieges  and  battles,  and  the 
times  just  ended  had  an  inexhaustible  fund  of  anec 
dote  for  the  fireside  through  generations  to  come. 
They  have  more  to  do  than  the  Catechism  in  giv 
ing  to  the  young  their  biases  and  impressions,  and 
we  shall  give  a  few  which  must  have  gone  a  good 
way  to  modify  Richard's  ideas  of  Catholicism. 

Among  the  inventions  of  cruelty  which  the  Cath 
olic  Inquisitors  had  brought  into  the  Netherlands, 
there  was  a  mode  of  punishment  by  burying  alive. 
In  the  year  1597,  there  was  a  single  instance  of  it, 
which  was  related  for  years  afterwards,  and  prob 
ably  had  as  much  influence  in  fomenting  in  young 
minds  a  hatred  of  Popery,  as  the  woodcut  of  John 
Rogers's  martyrdom  in  the  New  England  Primer 
had  among  the  children  of  the  Puritans. 

Executions  for  heresy  had  become  infrequent, 
and  loud  professions  of  the  clemency  and  mercy  of 
Philip  II.  had  been  made,  and  it  was  in  the  very 
midst  of  these  professions  that  a  spectacle  was  ex 
hibited  at  Ghent  that  thrilled  the  people  with  new 
spasms  of  hatred  and  revenge. 

A  woman  named  Annette  van  der  Hove,  aged 
about  forty  years,  in  the  humble  station  of  a  servant, 
but  of  unblemished  reputation,  was  tried  for  heresy, 
condemned,  and  sentenced  to  be  buried  alive.  She 
was  educated  in  the  Reformed  religion,  and  had  re- 


THE    PILGRIM.  279 

\ 

ceived  it  in  the  simplicity  of  her  heart.  While  in 
prison,  the  priest  called  upon  her,  as  usual,  to  make 
her  retract  her  opinions.  The  wisdom  and  becom 
ing  modesty  with  which  she  answered  him  were  re 
ported  to  the  admiration  of  all. 

"  As  far  as  I  am  capable  of  judging,  I  believe 
myself  to  be  right ;  but  if  not,  I  am  guilty  of  a  mis 
take,  which  in  one  so  ignorant  may  well  be  par 
doned  ;  but  I  shall  merit  the  just  vengeance  of 
Heaven,  if  under  the  influence  of  fear  I  should  sub 
scribe  to  the  truth  of  what  I  believe  to  be  false,  even 
though  it  should  prove  to  be  true." 

The  pit  was  dug,  and  she  was  led  forth  to  it,  and 
let  down  in  a  standing  posture.  As  the  execution 
er  filled  it  up,  the  Jesuit  priest  who  attended  her  had 
ample  time  to  ply  her  with  arguments  for  her  con 
version.  The  earth  had  reached  to  her  shoulders. 

"  Are  you  willing  now  to  change  your  faith  ?  " 

"  I  will  not  fear,"  she  replied,  u  this  dreadful 
death,  —  it  is  for  the  truth.  Into  the  Lord's  hand  I 
commend  my  spirit." 

The  executioner  continued  to  stamp  the  earth 
around  her  and  above  her.  The  crowd  heard  her 
groans  and  cries  of  agony  stifled  more  and  more 
until  the  dreadful  business  was  over. 

It  is  said  that  all  the  blood  which  had  been  shed 
before  the  commencement  of  the  war  had  less  influ 
ence  than  the  death  of  this  one  poor  woman.  It 
passed  into  nursery  tales  ;  it  was  told  with  pale 
cheeks  and  quivering  lips  ;  it  reached  undoubtedly 
our  boy  with  the  bright  locks  on  the  Princen  Graat, 
and  sank  down  into  his  pensive  spirit. 


280  THE    PILGRIM. 

Among  the  many  incidents  in  the  destruction  of 
Naarden,  there  was  one  which  took  a  despotic  hold 
of  the  imagination,  and  passed  also  into  the  nursery 
tales.  The  town  had  been  surrendered  to  Alva's 
troops,  on  the  express  condition  that  the  lives  and 
properties  of  all  the  inhabitants  should  be  preserved, 
and  the  citizens  take  a  new  oath  to  the  King  of 
Spain.  The  burghers  were  summoned,  and  came 
unarmed  to  the  town-house  for  the  purpose  of  tak 
ing  the  oath,  while  their  wives  were  busy  in  prepa 
rations  for  the  entertainment  of  the  strangers.  The 
town-hall  was  filled  with  the  peaceful  burghers, 
and  surrounded  with  Spanish  soldiers,  A  Catho 
lic  priest  walked  to  and  fro  before  the  town-hall 
for  some  time,  and  then  turned  suddenly  upon  the 
burghers  and  bade  them  prepare  for  death  ;  where 
upon  the  soldiers  fired  upon  them,  and  instantly  five 
hundred  lay  dead  upon  the  floor,  and  the  building 
was  set  on  fire.  Then  commenced  the  slaughter 
through  the  city.  One  Herbert  Williamson,  a  hardy 
blacksmith,  snatched  up  a  three-legged  stool  for  a 
shield  in  one  hand,  and  a  sword  in  the  other,  and 
defended  the  entrance  to  his  house  till  several 
Spaniards  were  laid  dead  in  the  passage.  But  he 
sinks  overpowered  by  numbers,  grasps  with  his 
horny  hands  the  blades  of  two  swords  that  are 
plunged  into  his  body,  severing  his  fingers  in  their 
way  His  daughter  rushes  out  and  kneels  for  mer 
cy,  and  for  answer  the  quivering  fingers  of  her  father 
are  flung  into  her  face.  The  women  of  Naarden  are 
thrown  into  the  wells  and  drowned.  Alva  approved 
of  the  proceedings,  and  Philip  and  the  Pope  both 


THE    PILGRIM.  281 

gave  to  Alva  their  "  Well  done,  good  and  faithful 
servant!"  Tales  of  which  these  are  a  specimen 
were  among  Richard's  first  lessons  in  Catholicism ! 

Stories  of  adventure  and  personal  heroism  were 
equally  abundant,  and  for  a  long  time  formed  the 
staple  of  nursery  anecdotes,  setting  forth  the  prow 
ess  and  magnanimity  of  the  Reformers.  Among 
these  was  the  story  of  "  the  boatmen  of  Liere." 

The  town  of  Breda  was  in  the  hands  of  the 
Spaniards,  and  it  was  important  that  it  should  be 
recovered.  Some  boatmen  of  the  village  of  Liere 
were  accustomed  to  supply  the  garrison  of  Breda 
with  fuel,  and  they  intimated  to  Maurice  that  the 
town  could  be  taken.  One  Charles  Heraguire  was 
intrusted  with  the  execution  of  the  plan.  He  hired 
a  vessel,  contrived  in  the  bottom  of  it  a  place  of 
concealment  capable  of  holding  seventy  persons, 
and  covered  with  boards,  over  which  was  placed  a 
cargo  of  turf.  Sixty-eight  persons  were  picked  for 
the  enterprise,  nearly  all  beardless  boys,  but  full  of 
courage  and  patriotism.  They  were  stowed  away 
under  the  boards,  and  had  to  sit  close,  and  in  a 
stooping  posture.  The  vessel  sprung  a  leak,  and 
filled  with  water  up  to  their  knees,  and  in  this  state 
they  came  into  the  harbor  of  Breda.  The  corporal 
of  the  citadel  came  on  board  to  inspect  the  cargo. 
One  of  the  men  concealed  under  it,  in  the  cold  and 
wet,  is  seized  with  a  propensity  to  cough,  which 
would  betray  them  all  to  certain  destruction.  Where 
upon  he  gave  his  poignard  to  one  of  his  fellows,  say 
ing,  "  Kill  me  instantly  the  moment  I  make  a  noise." 
Fortunately  it  was  not  necessary.  The  cargo  is  in- 

24* 


282  THE    riLGRIM. 

spected,  the  ship  unladen  by  soldiers  of  the  garrison, 
and  the  silence  of  midnight  has  ensued.  The  ship, 
like  the  Trojan  horse,  then  empties  its  fatal  contents. 
They  encounter  the  sentinel  at  the  gate,  and  run  him 
through  ;  they  seize  the  garrison,  and  in  a  short  time 
are  in  complete  possession  of  Breda. 

The  story  of  "  the  baker  of  Antwerp "  and  of 
"  Regnier  Klaaszoon,"  who  blew  himself  up  in  the 
midst  of  the  Spanish  galleons,  belonged  to  the  same 
class,  and  helped  to  make  up  that  body  of  tradition 
which  more  than  general  history  tends  to  fire  the 
young  mind  with  admiration  of  personal  bravery, 
and  detestation  of  the  tyranny  that  called  it  forth. 

The  twelve  years'  truce  was  agreed  upon  in  1609, 
when  Richard  Sayer  might  have  been  about  nine 
teen  years  old.  If  the  events  which  had  preceded, 
and  which  furnished  every  tavern,  street,  fireside, 
and  nursery  with  their  fund  of  traditional  lore,  were 
not  adapted  to  draw  a  sensitive  and  thinking  mind 
towards  Catholicism,  those  which  immediately  fol 
lowed  were  adapted  quite  as  little  to  draw  it  to 
wards  the  Reformed  religion  of  the  Netherlands. 


CHAPTER    III. 


"  Truth  for  ever  on  the  scaffold,  wrong  for  ever  on  the  throne." 

LOWELL. 


AFTER  the  Spanish  war  was  ended,  a  religious 
one  followed,  —  a  war  of  sect  with  sect;  and  the 
passions  of  the  human  heart  blazed  aloft  as  fierce 
and  lurid  as  before.  The  boy  was  educated  in  the 
midst  of  its  tumults,  and  its  contentions  constituted 
his  daily  surroundings,  at  the  period  when  the  mind 
receives  its  first  religious  ideas.  It  was  the  famous 
controversy  between  the  Calvinists  and  Arminians, 
which  ended  in  the  subjugation  of  the  latter,  and 
the  judicial  murder  of  Barneveldt.  This  contro 
versy  probably  had  something  to  do  in  causing 
Richard  to  quit  the  country,  We  will  give  as  dis 
tinct  an  idea  of  it  as  we  can,  in  the  brief  summary 
of  a  single  chapter.  The  following  are  the  prin 
cipals  among  the  dramatis  persons  of  the  contro 
versy. 

MAURICE  OF  NASSAU,  son  of  the  Prince  of  Orange, 
was  only  seventeen  years  old  when  his  father  was 
assassinated.  But  he  soon  manifested  military  tal 
ents  unrivalled  by  any  commander  in  Europe.  He 
carried  Holland  successfully  through  the  long  Span- 


284  THE    PILGRIM. 

ish  war.  He  scarcely  ever  lost  a  battle,  and  he 
kept  the  Spaniards  at  bay,  while  his  countrymen 
cultivated  the  fields ;  indeed,  all  the  arts  of  peace 
flourished  within  the  sound  of  arms.  But  the  no 
blest  virtues  are  not  nourished  in  a  camp.  Maurice 
became  imperious,  ambitious,  and  impatient  of  all 
opposition ;  and  when  peace  returned  was  the  most 
dangerous  man  whom  a  free  state  could  have  among 
its  citizens. 

JOHN  OWEN  BARNEVELDT  was  the  great  states 
man  of  Holland  after  the  fall  of  Orange.  He  was 
first  in  council,  as  Maurice  was  the  first  in  the  field. 
Pure,  wise,  patriotic,  and  just,  the  whole  country 
looked  up  to  him  as  its  venerable  and  benignant 
father.  When  the  truce  with  Spain  was  under 
negotiation,  Maurice  opposed  it,  and  was  in  favor 
of  a  continuance  of  the  war.  Barneveldt  saw 
through  his  ambitious  designs,  and  thwarted  them 
by  procuring  an  auspicious  and  glorious  peace. 
Maurice  from  that  time  became  his  secret  enemy. 

There  were  two  Professors  at  the  University  of 
Leyden,  who  were  destined  to  open  a  religious  con 
troversy  of  wide-spread  and  fearful  consequences. 
FRANCIS  GOMAR  was  a  man  of  sour  temper  and 
turbulent  disposition  ;  a  teacher  of  theology,  but 
delighting  less  in  its  flowery  fields  than  its  tangles 
of  thorns  and  briers.  His  face  looks  out  from  one 
of  the  huge  woodcuts  of  Brandt's  folio  history  of 
the  Reformation  ;  his  eye  appears  hard  and  stony, 
and  his  features  have  evidently  been  shaped  under 
the  influence  of  ghastly  contemplations. 

The  other  Professor  was  JAMES  ARMINIUS,  a  man 


THE    PILGRIM.  285 

of  vast  learning,  mild  and  amiable  manners,  and  a 
persuasive  and  silvery  eloquence.  In  one  of  his 
lectures,  he  seemed  to  call  in  question  the  doctrine 
of  Calvin  on  predestination,  and  excited  the  oppo 
sition  of  Gomar.  The  dispute  waxed  warmer  and 
warmer,  the  students  took  sides,  and  the  University 
became  a  scene  of  strife.  At  first,  the  dispute  was 
carried  on  in  Latin.  But  the  ministers  took  up  the 
controversy,  and  fulminated  from  the  pulpits  in  the 
vernacular  tongue.  The  people  took  it  up  after 
them,  and  in  a  short  time  men  at  their  business, 
ladies  in  the  drawing-room,  washerwomen  at  their 
tubs,  girls  at  school,  and  boys  in  the  streets,  were 
spluttering  fiercely  in  Dutch  about  "  fixed  fate,  free 
will,  foreknowledge  absolute."  The  dispute  waxed 
hot  and  virulent,  and  all  Holland  was  involved  in 
the  blaze. 

From  a  war  of  words,  it  became  a  war  of  blows, 
and  Amsterdam  was  the  first  scene  of  violence. 
There  the  Calvinists  were  in  a  decided  majority, 
and  the  city  government  was  in  their  hands.  The 
Arminians  had  hired  a  large  warehouse  as  a  place 
of  worship,  and  one  Sunday  morning  they  had  as 
sembled  within  it  for  divine  service,  to  the  number 
of  eighteen  hundred.  Scarcely  had  the  preacher 
opened  his  lips,  when  a  mob  collected  oir 
broke  in  the  windows,  and  rushed  upon  the  preach 
er  to  drag  him  from  his  desk.  The  women,  quite 
as  brave  as  Jenny  Geddes,  formed  a  guard  about 
him,  and  defended  him  with  their  stools.  The  as 
sailants  then  withdrew,  and  nailed  up  the  only  door 
of  the  building,  and  were  about  to  set  fire  to  it,  and 


286  THE    PILGRIM. 

roast  the  Arminians  alive  together.  But  the  latter 
broke  through  the  door  and  made  their  escape,  the 
minister  at  the  peril  of  his  life,  when  the  building 
was  plundered,  and  the  tiles  stripped  from  the  roof. 
The  magistrates,  being  Calvinists,  refused  to  punish 
the  rioters. 

Encouraged  by  this  impunity,  the  mob  assembled 
in  the  streets  the  next  Sabbath,  at  first  in  knots  and 
companies  that  stood  in  evil  consultation.  Passing 
the  house  of  a  wealthy  Arminian  by  the  name  of 
Bishop,  a  brother  of  the  famous  Episcopius,  some 
one  cried  out,  "  Here  the  Arminians  preach."  It 
was  the  signal  for  assault.  They  broke  into  the 
house,  and  plundered  it  from  garret  to  cellar,  the 
police  refusing  to  defend  it  or  stop  the  rioters.  The 
family  escaped  with  their  lives  through  a  back  door. 
The  next  day  the  mob  assembled  for  fresh  outrage, 
and  the  principal  merchants  threatened  to  leave  the 
city.  Considerations  of  trade  brought  the  magis 
trates  to  a  sense  of  duty,  and  soldiers  were  immedi 
ately  stationed  to  restore  order.  It  is  mentioned 
as  a  curious  instance  of  sectarian  conscientiousness, 
that  the  Calvinist  clergy,  who  had  preached  with 
great  solemnity  against  dances,  and  gay  dress,  never 
expressed  the  slightest  disapprobation  of  these  at 
tempts  to  rob  and  murder  the  Arminians. 

The  example  was  contagious.  In  other  towns 
and  cities  where  the  authorities  were  Calvinist," 
mobs  rose  upon  the  Arminians,  and  were  encour 
aged  in  their  violence.  At  last,  the  persecuted  sect 
appealed  to  the  government  for  protection.  Bar- 
neveldt  was  at  the  head  of  the  State  Council,  by 


THE    PILGRIM.  287 

whom  a  decree  was  issued,  that  there  should  be  a 
new  levy  of  troops  in  all  the  principal  towns,  who 
should  enforce  order  and  keep  the  peace. 

Maurice  had  watched  his  hour,  and  it  had  now 
come.  He  allied  himself  with  the  Calvinists,  in 
opposition  to  Barneveldt,  and  formed  his  plan  to 
subvert  the  government,  and  rise  to  despotic  power 
on  the  down-trodden  liberties  of  Holland.  He  fa 
vored  the  scheme  of  the  Calvinists,  of  a  general 
synod  to  condemn  the  Arminians,  and  he  put 
himself  at  the  head  of  two  companies  of  infantry, 
marched  into  the  towns  and  cities  where  the  new 
levies  had  been  raised,  and  disarmed  and  disbanded 
them.  This  open  defiance  of  the  civil  power  was 
followed  by  more  atrocious  outrages.  Barneveldt 
and  three  of  his  friends  were  arrested  by  the  body 
guard  of  Maurice,  and  thrown  into  prison,  without 
the  least  color  of  legal  authority. 

The  famous  Synod  of  Dort  was  convened,  com 
posed  of  the  most  violent  enemies  of  the  Armini 
ans.  It  was  backed  by  the  authority  of  Maurice, 
and  was  a  clear  usurpation  of  the  rights  of  Holland. 
By  the  terms  of  union  between  the  seven  provinces, 
each  retained  the  exclusive  control  of  its  own  relig 
ious  affairs.  But  the  Synod  assumed  that  control, 
and  condemned  the  Arminians,  who,  by  the  States- 
General,  the  Assembly  of  the  seven  provinces, 
with  Maurice  at  their  head,  were  sentenced  to 
silence  or  banishment,  and  they  generally  chose 
the  latter. 

Then  followed  a  scene,  which  sent  a  shudder 
through  the  civilized  world,  The  aged  Barneveldt, 


288  THE    PILGRIM. 

grown  gray  in  his  country's  service,  the  incorrupti 
ble  patriot,  Christian,  and  sage,  around  whom,  in  the 
hour  of  distress,  the  people  had  clung  for  protection, 
as  children  around  a  father,  was  led  forth  from 
prison  to  a  mock  trial,  and  condemned  to  die.  His 
only  crime  was  the  levy  of  the  new  troops,  to  pro 
tect  the  citizens  from  Calvinist  mobs,  —  a  course 
perfectly  legal  and  necessary,  —  though  other  char 
ges  of  a  frivolous  nature  were  brought  against  him. 
It  was  a  most  affecting  sight,  when  the  old  man 
was  led  forth  to  execution,  leaning  on  the  arm  of  a 
faithful  servant,  through  the  multitude,  many  of 
whom  averted  their  faces  and  wept.  Had  Wash 
ington  been  led  to  the  scaffold  at  the  close  of  his 
glorious  services,  the  sight  could  hardly  have  been 
more  afflictive  to  good  men.  As  he  ascended  the 
platform,  he  repeated  the  lines  of  Horace :  — 

"  Justum,  et  tenacem  propositi  virum, 
Non  civium  ardor  prava  jubentium, 
Non  vultus  instantis  tyranni 
Mente  quatit  solida."  * 

In  front  of  the  saloon  of  the  court-house,  where 
the  ambassadors  of  the  haughty  Philip  had  come 
to  him  and  sued  for  peace,  the  old  patriot  and  sage 
bared  his  neck  to  the  axe,  and  his  gray  head  rolled 
upon  the  scaffold. 

The  tragedy  moved  on  till  the  reign  of  terror  un 
der  Maurice  and  Calvinism  was  complete.  Every 

*  "  Not  the  rage  of  the  people  commanding  wicked  measures,  not  the 
face  of  a  threatening  tyrant,  can  shake  the  settled  purpose  of  the  man 
just  and  determined  in  his  resolve." 


THE    PILGRIM.  289 

Arminian  clergyman  was  deposed  from  office,  and 
the  Arminian  assemblies  were  broken  up.  To  at 
tend  their  worship  subjected  the  offender  to  heavy 
penalties.  Still  they  assembled.  Outside  the  city 
walls,  in  woods,  in  deserts,  at  midnight  and  under 
the  watching  stars,  they  lifted  up  to  the  naked  sky 
their  low  and  tremulous  song.  But  the  hunters 
were  ever  on  the  scent,  and  armed  men  would  break 
in  on  their  lonely  devotions,  and  turn  the  place  of 
worship  into  a  scene  of  massacre.  The  old  Spanish 
cruelties  were  acted  over  again,  and  Calvinism,  with 
the  decrees  of  the  Synod  of  Dort,  committed  pre 
cisely  the  crimes  against  human  nature  that  it  had 
complained  of  so  bitterly  when  Philip,  with  the  de 
crees  of  the  Council  of  Trent,  was  forcing  the  In 
quisition  on  the  Netherlands. 


25 


CHAPTER    IV. 


"  Then  the  good  old  Past  would  leave  me, 

With  the  full  tears  in  my  eyes, 
That  our  pathway  is  no  longer 
Hand  in  hand  to  Paradise." 


THERE  is  no  period  in  the  life  of  the  individual 
so  decisive  and  so  full  of  interest  as  that  in  which 
he  chooses  between  diverse  and  conflicting  forms 
of  religious  belief.  Those  who  receive  a  tradi 
tional  belief,  or  those  whose  minds  are  sluggish 
and  earthly,  have  no  such  struggle  to  go  through. 
"Richard,  now  a  young  man,  not  only  rejected  the 
traditional  faith;  but,  identified  as  it  was  with 
Spanish  cruelties,  it  must  have  haunted  his  sensi 
tive  mind  with  frightful  horrors.  But  the  domi 
nant  religion  of  Protestantism,  as  he  had  seen  it 
exhibited  in  Holland,  had  features  equally  fright 
ful  and  repulsive.  He  had  seen  it  denouncing 
the  natural  sports  of  childhood,  and  then  mobbing 
peaceful  citizens  ;  he  saw  its  robes  crimson  with  the 
blood  of  Barneveldt,  and  he  saw  that  it  kept  in  its 
employ,  and  as  a  part  of  its  establishment,  a  pack 
of  hounds  to  smell  out  Arminians  and  hunt  them 
to  death.  Even  when  the  civil  power  relented,  he 


THE    PILGRIM.  291 

saw  the  clergy  urging  them  on  with  a  zeal  that 
had  settled  down  into  chronic  hate.  If  the  penal 
edicts  were  relaxed,  they  petitioned  the  States- 
General,  and,  calling  themselves  the  "  Sorrowing 
Church,"  deprecated  calling  off  the  hunters  from 
their  appropriate  work.  With  his  warm  religious 
temperament,  what  must  have  been  the  feelings  of 
our  young  man,  when  he  found  himself  cut  loose 
from  the  religions  of  his  day,  and  adrift  on  a  sea 
of  doubt  and  speculation!  The  question  must 
have  pressed  painfully  upon  him  as  he  walked  the 
streets  of  Amsterdam  :  u  Is  there  any  religion 
which  is  true,  amid  this  tumult,  bloodshed,  and 
wrong?"  —  and,  with  his  constitutional  love  of 
peace,  he  must  have  sighed  for  some  far-off  spot 
over  which  the  waves  of  bitterness  had  never 
rolled. 

He  found  it.  I  do  not  know  what  first  called 
him  to  Leyden,  or  at  what  precise  point  of  time. 
But  we  find  him  there  during  the  troubles  described 
in  the  preceding  pages,  joining  his  fortunes  to  those 
of  an  obscure  company  of  strangers,  who  had  fled 
to  Holland  out  of  England  for  protection.  As 
Richard  Sayer  was  never  a  Calvinist,  but  held  in 
after  life  the  tolerant  sentiments  of  the  Arminians, 
there  is  some  reason  to  believe  that  he  sympathized 
with  them  at  this  time,  and  it  is  quite  possible  that 
the  sellouts  and  bailiffs  may  have  been  upon  his 
track. 

At  any  rate,  we  find  him  at  Leyden  joined  to  a 
small  but  rneek  company  of  worshippers,  who  met 
every  Sunday  at  a  private  house,  and  whose  sim- 


292  THE    PILGRIM. 

pie  worship,  primitive  manners,  and  loving  spirit 
were  calculated  to  charm  a  young  mind  which  had 
a  tinge  of  religious  romance,  arid  was  yearning  for 
a  communion  which  had  never  been  tainted  with 
the  principles  of  intolerance. 

A  company  of  three  hundred  persons  came  to 
Leyden  in  1609, — just  about  the  time  of  the 
armistice  with  Spain.  They  must  have  been  there 
several  years  when  Richard  joined  them.  They 
excited  little  notice  at  Leyden,  except  as  an  indus 
trious  and  sober  people,  honest  in  their  dealings, 
plain  in  their  dress,  pure  in  their  lives,  at  peace 
among  themselves,  and  warm  in  their  affections 
towards  each  other.  Public  worship  was  not  al 
lowed  them,  as  only  the  Presbyterian  form  was 
tolerated  by  the  government,  but  they  met  unmo 
lested  at  the  house  of  their  pastor.  This  was  none 
other  than  John  Robinson,  a  man  who  leaned  on 
the  bosom  of  his  Lord  all  the  year,  there  to  get 
comfort  and  strength  in  his  many  and  bitter  trials. 
Never  since  the  primitive  days  had  there  been  such 
a  flock  with  such  a  pastor  as  assembled  in  that 
house  at  Leyden.  Trial  and  hardship  had  pencilled 
their  features  with  the  lines  of  care,  but  at  the  same 
time  it  had  clothed  them  in  the  meekest  of  the 
Christian  graces,  made  them  patient  arid  gentle,  for 
giving  towards  their  enemies,  and  tolerant  towards 
all  the  disciples  of  the  Lord  Jesus.  Common  dan 
gers  and  hardships  had  knit  them  to  each  other  by 
the  strongest  ties  of  love,  and  even  a  stranger, 
as  he  looked  in  upon  the  little  company  while 
they  were  engaged  in  worship,  would  be  touched 


THE    PILGRJM.  293 

with  sympathy,  especially  during  the  singing  and  the 
prayer ;  for  their  faces  would  be  rapt  like  Stephen's 
with  visions  of  supersensual  glory,  and  their  fervid 
psalms,  touching  a  thousand  memories  of  dark 
dangers  and  Divine  deliverances,  would  bring  the 
tears  of  gratitude  from  all  their  eyes  in  a  sweet 
and  gentle  rain.  "  It  was  the  sweetest  melody," 
says  one  of  their  number,  "that  ever  mine  ears 
heard."  While  the  noise  of  tongues  was  sound 
ing  everywhere  else,  and  the  billows  of  strife  were 
dashing  on  every  side,  this  flock  at  Leyden  occu 
pied  a  charmed  spot,  which  was  never  disturbed, 
as  if  "Peace,  be  still!"  from  the  lips  of  the  Master, 
were  breathed  over  it  in  perpetual  benediction. 

The  reader  will  please  take  his  map  and  cast  his 
eye  over  the  northern  counties  of  England.  You 
will  find  two  counties,  Nottinghamshire  and  Lin 
colnshire,  lying  adjacent,  and  both  cornering  up  on 
the  line  of  Yorkshire.  There,  as  you  perceive,  a 
pin's  point  touches  upon  those  three  counties ;  and 
about  that  point  there  are  three  towns  which  were 
never  large  enough  to  have  a  place  on  the  maps, 
but  which  nevertheless  contained  the  elements  of 
a  mighty  empire.  These  towns  were  Austerfield, 
Scrooby,  and  Bawtry,  —  lying  near  to  each  other 
in  the  three  counties  severally  ;  the  first  in  Lincoln 
shire,  the  second  in  Nottinghamshire,  and  the  third 
in  Yorkshire.  They  are  agricultural  towns,  and 
the  whole  region  surrounding  is  an  agricultural 
region,  and  in  the  times  of  which  we  write  was 
occupied  by  a  population  in  a  happy  medium  be 
tween  poverty  and  riches.  It  contained  a  class  of 

25* 


294  THp    PILGRIM. 

sturdy  farmers  with  their  families,  who  worked 
through  the  week  and  worshipped  God  in  neat  at 
tire  when  Sunday  came  round.  Away  from  court 
influence,  away  from  the  town  with  its  luxuries  or 
its  destitutions,  they  dwelt  amid  corn-fields  and 
sheep  and  kine,  read  little,  saved  something  from 
their  hard  earnings,  and  thought  somewhat  about 
God  and  futurity.* 

The  English  Church  had  been  established.  Con 
formity  Vith  its  rites  of  worship  was  required  by 
act  of  Parliament,  and  non-conformity  punished 
with  fine  and  imprisonment.  Wealth,  rank,  sta 
tion,  and  respectability  were  with  the  Established 
Church  ;  the  throne,  and  the  aristocracy  next  to  it, 
were  firmly  allied  with  prelacy,  and  they  pressed 
down  with  a  weight  that  either  crushed  out  non 
conformity  or  ground  it  to  the  earth.  The  English 
Episcopal  Church  had  also  its  bloodhounds,  that 
sought  out  and  worried  the  non-conformists  in  a 
manner  much  as  we  have  described  that  of  the 
Calvinists  in  their  treatment  of  the  Arminians  in 
Holland. 

But  in  that  class  which  constitutes  the  middle 
stratum  of  English  life,  made  up  mainly  of  the 
Anglo-Saxon  element,  there  was  a  growing  number 
who  desired  a  more  ascetic  religion,  and  a  more  se 
vere  morality,  than  were  to  be  found  in  the  Estab 
lishment.  Its  May-days,  its  dances,  its  bear-bait 
ings,  its  theatre-going,  were  opposed  to  their  notions 
of  godly  living  ;  and  its  robes  and  surplices  were  in 

*  See  the  pamphlet  containing  the  late  researches  of  Rev.  Robert 
Hunter.     It  is  in  the  library  of  Harvard  College. 


THE    PILGRIM.  295 

their  eyes  no  better  than  the  rags  of  Popery.  This 
growing  number  of  people  who  kept  the  Sabbath, 
and  who  prayed  not  by  reciting  from  the  prayer- 
book,  but  wrestled  with  God  in  secret,  got  the  name 
of  Puritans ;  and  so  early  as  the  reign  of  Elizabeth 
were-  said  by  Sir  Walter  Raleigh  to '  comprise  twen 
ty  thousand  people  throughout  England.  These 
were  the  descendants  of  "  the  men  that  wore  fag 
ots,"  and  their  co-operators  and  co-thinkers,  de 
scribed  in  a  former  page.  Puritanism  was  simply 
Lollardism  getting  ripe  and  going  to  seed.  They 
had  no  visible  organization,  and  they  sought  safety 
in  obscurity.  We  find  them  now  and  then  gather 
ing  to  a  head  around  some  nucleus  of  a  conventi 
cle,  and  among  the  earliest  of  these  manifestations 
were  those  in  the  neighborhood  of  the  obscure  towns 
in  the  North,  —  Austerfield,  Scrooby,  and  Bawtry. 


CHAPTER    V. 


"  Till  men's  persons  great  afflictions  touch, 
If  worth  be  found,  their  worth  is  not  so  much, 
Because,  like  wheat  in  straw,  they  have  not  yet 
That  value  which  in  threshing  they  may  get/' 


THERE  was  a  man  by  the  name  of  Davison,  Sec 
retary  in  the  Court  of  Queen  Elizabeth,  who  fell 
under  the  sore  displeasure  of  that  royal  termagant. 
It  is  a  curious  story,  and  is  not  generally  told  truly 
in  the  popular  histories.  Elizabeth  signed  the  death- 
warrant  of  her  cousin,  the  Queen  of  Scots,  and  gave 
it  to  Davison  that  he  might  take  it  to  Walsingham 
to  receive  the  royal  seal.  Meanwhile,  before  the 
warrant  was  to  be  despatched,  she  devised  means  of 
getting  Mary  taken  off,  so  as  not  to  bear  before  the 
world  the  fearful  responsibility  herself.  She  fore 
saw  the  odium  it  would  bring  upon  her.  She  there 
fore  ordered  Walsingham  and  Davison  to  write  to 
Sir  Amyas  Paulet  and  Sir  Drue  Drury,  keepers  of 
Fotheringay  Castle,  and  let  them  know  that  it  was 
the  Queen's  pleasure  that  they  should  have  Mary 
put  out  of  the  way  secretly,  and  on  their  own  re 
sponsibility.  The  horrified  keepers  refused  the  busi 
ness.  Still  Elizabeth  brooded  over  a  private  mur- 


THE    PILGRIM.  297 

der.  Meanwhile,  her  Council,  knowing  the  fact,  and 
fearing  that  the  Queen  would  shift  the  burden  on 
their  shoulders,  or  delay  the  affair  from  time  to  time, 
and  die  before  the  deed  was  done,  sent  off' the  death- 
warrant  privately,  and  without  her  knowledge.  Ma 
ry  was  thus  executed  at  the  very  hour  when  Eliza 
beth  was  lamenting  that  some  one  who  professed  to 
love  her  would  not  take  the  business  off  her  hands ; 
and  she  actually  did  not  know  of  the  execution  till 
she  heard  the  bells  of  London  ringing  in  honor  of 
the  event.  She  was  enraged  with  her  ministers  for 
deceiving  her,  but  she  vented  her  wrath  principally 
on  Davison.  She  imposed  a  ruinous  fine  upon  him, 
and  sent  him  to  the  Tower.* 

This  event  had  an  influence  on  the  fortunes  of 
another  person,  very  interesting  to  those  who  like  to 
trace  the  causes  of  events,  and  the  inter-connection 
of  each  with  all.  Davison  while  in  favor  at  court 
had  in  his  employ  a  private  secretary  named  Wil 
liam  Brewster.  He  was  a  man  of  good  abilities 
and  unswerving  honesty,  and  withal  given  to  relig 
ious  meditations.  After  the  fall  of  Davison,  he  still 
clung  to  his  patron  as  a  friend,  visited  him  in  pris 
on,  and  did  everything  in  his  power  to  soothe  his 
grief  and  alleviate  his  misfortunes.  But  he  had 
seen  the  vanity  of  human  greatness,  and  in  the 
mock-sunshine  of  the  court  had  learned  thoroughly 
the  lesson  which  Wolsey  learned  too  late,  and  Da 
vison  after  him. 

*  All  this  is  proved  beyond  doubt  by  the  "  State  Papers/'  and  by 
private  letters  given  in  Miss  Strickland's  Lives  of  the  Queens,  Vol. 
VI,  pp.  50  -  G4. 


298  THE    PILGRIM. 

"  Vain  pomp  and  glory  of  this  world,  I  hate  ye ! 
I  feel  my  heart  new  opened.     O  how  wretched 
Is  that  poor  man  that  hangs  on  princes'  favors ! 
There  is  betwixt  that  smile  we  would  aspire  to, 
That  sweet  aspect  of  princes,  and  their  ruin, 
More  pangs  and  fears  than  wars  or  women  have ; 
And  when  he  falls,  he  falls  like  Lucifer, 
Never  to  hope  again." 

Brewster,  being  now  about  thirty-eight  years 
old,  sought  a  place  of  retirement,  far  away  from 
court,  where  he  might  give  up  his  mind,  unmolested, 
to  religious  exercises  and  contemplations.  He  se 
lected  the  little  town  of  Scrooby  in  Nottingham 
shire,  already  described.  There  was  an  old  manor- 
house  in  the  village,  which  had  formerly  been  occu 
pied  by  the  Archbishops  of  York,  but  which  had 
fallen  into  neglect  and  decay.  Brewster  rented  it, 
and  retired  thither  with  his  wife  and  family.  The 
parish  church  was  close  by,  but  Brewster  did  not 
attend  it,  preferring  private  worship  in  his  own  fam 
ily  ;  and  on  Sunday,  around  "  the  old  blessed  Bible 
that  lay  on  the  stand,"  he  and  his  wife,  with  the 
children,  Jonathan,  Love,  Wrestling,  Patience,  and 
Fear,  gathered  for  a  special  exercise  of  exhortation 
and  prayer.  Godly  neighbors  came  in  and  joined 
them,  —  people  whom  the  formalities  of  the  Church 
ritual  did  not  satisfy,  while  they  hungered  for  the 
bread  of  life.  The  old  manor-house  gradually  gath 
ered  within  it  a  little  congregation,  that  hung  with 
rapt  attention  on  the  prayers  and  prophesyings  of 
Brewster.  He  was  something  of  a  scholar,  had 
studied  at  Cambridge,  was  fully  imbued  with  the 
Puritan  theology,  and  withal  had  a  singular  gift 


THE    PILGRIM.  299 

"  in  ripping  up  the  heart  and  conscience  before 
God."  It  was  not  long  before  the  congregation 
gathered  at  his  house  so  regularly,  as  to  require  the 
work  and  oversight  of  a  regular  pastor. 

Not  far  off  from  Scrooby,  in  the  town  of  Bab- 
worth,  lived  a  gray-haired  old  man  by  the  name  of 
Richard  Clifton,  who  had  been  a  rector  of  the 
church  in  that  place,  but  had  embraced  Puritan 
sentiments,  and  probably  been  silenced  for  non-con 
formity.  At  any  rate,  he  came  to  Scrooby,  and  was 
chosen  pastor  of  the  congregation  that  met  at  Brew- 
ster's  house  ;  and  such  was  his  sanctity  and  his  gift 
at  exhortation,  that  he  drew  to  him  devout  people 
from  the  rural  towns  in  the  neighborhood.  He  had 
"  a  great  white  beard "  hanging  down  upon  his 
breast,  and  with  such  power  and  pungency  did  he 
send  home  the  arrows  of  truth,  that  it  seemed  as  if 
one  of  the  old  Apostles  had  risen  from  the  grave. 

Among  those  drawn  to  Brewster's  house  by  the 
preaching  of  Clifton,  was  a  boy  from  the  neighbor 
ing  town  of  Austerfield,  which  lies  just  over  the  line 
in  Lincolnshire.  Mark  the  boy  well,  for  Providence 
has  great  designs  in  bringing  him  hither !  He  is 
not  more  than  twelve  or  fourteen  years  old ;  has  a 
pale,  meek  face  ;  sickness  has  made  him  thoughtful, 
and  the  opposition  of  his  own  friends  and  relatives 
has  given  him  a  pensive  air.  His  father  died  when 
he  was  only  two  years  old,  and  left  him  in  the 
charge  of  two  uncles.  Austerfield  was  a  place  of 
licentiousness  and  wickedness,  and  the  boy  has 
grown  up  in  sight  and  hearing  of  it ;  but  his  long- 
continued  sickness  has  kept  his  mind  fixed  on  bet- 


300  THE    PILGRIM. 

ter  things  ;  he  has  read  his  Bible  much,  and,  as  some 
one  conjectures,  has  had  access  to  a  choice  library 
in  possession  of  one  of  his  uncles,  where  slaking 
his  early  thirst  for  knowledge  has  only  made  him 
thirst  the  more.  He  walks  every  Sunday  over  the 
Idle,  —  a  brook  that  flows  languidly  between  Aus- 
terfield  and  Scrooby,  and  the  sermons  of  the  old 
man  with  "  a  great  white  beard"  have  made  an  in 
delible  impression  on  his  soul. 

His  uncles  oppose  the  course  he  is  taking,  and 
there  are  profane  wits  enough  in  Austerfield  to 
scoff  at  the  young  Puritan  for  his  precocious  pi 
etism.  But  it  is  all  in  vain.  A  special  Providence 
is  training  him  and  leading  him  on ;  for  that  little 
band  at  Brewster's  house  are  to  colonize  a  mighty 
empire,  and  that  pale  boy  is  to  be  its  guide  and 
stay  through  its  first  dark  and  perilous  years.  This 
boy  is  William  Bradford,  —  the  future  Governor  of 
the  Plymouth  colony. 

Not  long  after  this,  the  congregation  received 
another  accession.  John  Robinson  had  been  a 
preacher  of  the  Established  Church  near  Yarmouth 
in  Norfolk,  but  he  had  been  "  harried "  for  non 
conformity,  and  his  friends  almost  ruined  in  the 
ecclesiastical  courts.  Seeking  obscurity  and  the 
quiet  and  unmolested  worship  of  God,  he  also  found 
his  way  to  Scrooby.  Never  since  the  apostolic  days 
was  there  a  character  in  which  the  opposite  qual 
ities  of  firmness  and  meekness  were  more  beauti 
fully  blended.  He  separated  from  the  English 
Church  without  a  particle  of  bitterness  towards  its 
communion ;  he  embraced  the  rigid  theology  of  the 


THE    PILGRIM.  301 

Puritans,  which  he  held  with  a  gentle  and  an  all- 
comprehending  charity.  The  hardest  trials  made 
his  temper  more  mild,  and  his  piety  more  serene ; 
and  persecution  and  wrong  only  set  free  in  a 
more  signal  manner  that  spirit  of  toleration  which 
breathed  from  his  heart  like  a  heavenly  perfume. 
He  was  associated  with  Clifton  in  the  pastorate  of 
the  church  in  Brewster's  house,  and  when  Clifton 
removed  to  Amsterdam,  Robinson  was  left  in  sole 
charge  of  it. 

Thus  and  in  an  obscure  corner  originated  the 
congregation  which  in  a  preceding  chapter  we 
have  described  as  being  at  Leyden,  where  Richard 
Sayer  found  them,  and  joined  their  number.  Why 
they  left  Scrooby  and  removed  to  Leyden,  and 
throligh  what  perils  and  hardships,  has  been  de 
scribed  by  Bradford,  who  became  the  historian  of 
the  Pilgrim  church.  It  will  be  readily  conceived 
that  the  old  manor-house  at  Scrooby  did  not  con 
ceal  them  a  great  while,  or  shield  them  from  the 
tender  mercies  of  the  bishops  and  the  officials  of 
the  ecclesiastical  courts.  They  were  fined,  impris 
oned,  and  worried,  till  they  finally  resolved  on  re 
moval  to  Holland.  They  went  in  separate  com 
panies,  first  to  Amsterdam,  where  some  of  them 
remained,  the  aged  Clifton  among  the  rest ;  but 
most  of  the  Scrooby  congregation  came  finally  to 
Leyden;  Brewster,  Robinson,  and  Bradford  being 
the  leading  spirits  of  the  enterprise,  and  infusing 
through  its  affairs  an  immortal  energy. 


CHAPTER    VI. 


"  Wild  heather  floors  and  rolling  convex  skies 
Their  temples  now." 


WITH  what  delightful  emotions  must  the  hero  of 
our  simple  narrative  have  listened  to  the  preaching 
of  Robinson,  as  he  first  joined  the  Pilgrim  congrega 
tion  at  Leyden !  Except  in  the  persons  of  the  per 
secuted  and  almost  extinguished  Arminians,  Chris 
tianity  had  been  exhibited  to  him  only  as  a  gloomy 
and  bloody  superstition.  We  have  reason  to  sup 
pose  that  he  sought  Robinson  at  Leyden,  and  was 
drawn  to  him  by  the  magnetic  power  of  spirit  upon 
spirit,  much  as  Bradford  had  been  drawn  to  Clifton  at 
Scrooby.  The  longing  heart  and  fond  imagination 
of  his  dreaming  boyhood  had  pictured  on  his  fancy 
a  church  and  a  Christian  polity  which  had  nothing 
corresponding  to  it  in  the  state  of  things  around 
him.  From  what  fulness  of  heart  must  he  have 
poured  into  the  ear  of  the  Pilgrim  pastor  the  story 
of  his  ancestral  wrongs,  and  the  sighings  of  his  soul 
after  a  religion  that  came  to  bless,  and  not  to  curse  ! 
And  what  a  contrast  must  he  have  felt  as  soon  as 
he  crossed  the  threshold  into  the  sphere  of  that  meek 
and  loving  fellowship,  which  was  like  an  "  orb  of 
tranquillity  "  in  the  midst  of  storms  ! 


THE    PILGRIM.  303 

Robinson  believed  substantially  with  the  Calvin- 
ists  of  Holland,  but  his  whole  spirit  was  that  of 
the  Arminians,  and  their  fundamental  principle  of 
"  God's  word  above  the  Catechism  and  Confession," 
he  adopted,  defended,  and  impressed  on  the  minds 
of  his  people.  He  disputed  with  the  Arminians, 
held  a  controversy  with  Episcopius  in  the  Univer 
sity,  wrote  in  defence  of  Predestination ;  but  no 
barbed  words  ever  fell  from  his  tongue,  and  no  drop 
of  gall  ever  flowed  from  his  pen.*  He  was  a  ripe 
scholar,  and  his  piety  was  not  less  constant  and 
fervent  than  his  learning  was  varied  and  profound. 

It  is  probable  that  the  struggle  was  long  and  se 
vere,  before  the  final  separation  of  the  tie  between 
Richard  and  his  kinsfolk  at  Amsterdam.  We  have 
no  record  of  that  struggle ;  but  his  parents  being 
Catholics,  and  therefore  regarding  the  obscure  band 
of  Separatists  at  Leyden  with  no  favorable  eye,  it 
must  have  been  a  grievous  disappointment  when 
their  son  joined  the  despised  company  of  Pilgrims. 
How  many  times  he  travelled  from  Amsterdam  to 
Leyden  before  he  finally  embarked  his  hopes  and  his 
fortunes ;  how  the  love  of  home  and  friends  strug 
gled  with  religious  convictions  and  aspirations ; 
how  his  spirit  was  charmed  with  the  apostolic  be 
nignity  and  heavenly  eloquence  of  the  Pilgrim  pas 
tor,  and  thrilled  and  melted  by  the  quivering  pathos 
of  the  worship,  and  "  the  music  sweeter  than  ear 

*  Bradford  says  he  "  non-plusscd  "  Episcopius  in  debate.  He 
must  have  been  a  remarkable  man  to  accomplish,  single-handed, 
what  the  whole  Synod  of  Dort  could  not,  even  when  backed  by  the 
States-General.  Bradford's  account,  however,  is  evidently  colored. 


304  THE    PILGRIM. 

ever  heard,"  is  easy  enough  to  be  conceived,  in  the 
absence  of  any  record  which  has  been  left  us.  But 
at  the  time  Richard  joined  them,  they  had  come  to 
the  determination  to  quit  Holland,  and  seek  a  home 
beyond  the  Western  main ;  and  his  imagination  was 
just  the  one  to  be  captivated  by  the  dream  of  a 
Utopia  beyond  the  waters,  far  away  from  rumors  of 
strife  and  dissension,  where  brethren  should  dwell 
together  in  unity,  and  worship  God  free  from  the 
pest  of  the  schouts  and  bailiffs.  There  they  would 
establish  a  commonwealth  where  humanity  should 
start  anew,  and  the  Church  of  Christ  arise  in  the 
purity  and  splendor  of  her  primitive  days,  with  no 
wrinkle  on  her  brow,  and  no  blood-spot  on  her 
robes. 

The  Scrooby  church  had  been  in  Holland  only 
about  eleven  years,  when  they  resolved  on  a  new 
emigration.  Their  lot  in  Holland  was  a  hard  one, 
for  though  they  were  at  peace  among  themselves, 
and  their  worship  was  unmolested,  yet  poverty  al 
ways  stared  them  in  the  face ;  they  were  strangers 
and  sojourners,  and  the  jargon  of  a  foreign  language 
was  always  sounding  in  their  ears.  What  grieved 
them  most  of  all,  their  children  grew  up  and  left 
them,  sometimes  assimilating  to  the  native  popula 
tion,  adopting  their  habits  and  customs,  which  were 
often  corrupt,  "  some  becoming  soldiers,  others  tak 
ing  them  upon  far  voyages  by  sea,  and  others  some 
worse  courses,  tending  to  dissoluteness  and  the  dan 
ger  of  their  souls."  They  saw  that,  if  they  remained 
in  Ley  den,  they  should  ultimately  disappear,  melt 
ing  away  as  a  soluble  element  in  the  foreign  pop- 


THE    PILGRIM.  305 

ulation,  instead  of  establishing  a  Church  that  from 
small  beginnings  should  grow  mighty,  and  invite 
the  poor  and  oppressed  to  its  sheltering  bosom. 
This  was  their  fondest  dream,  —  not  only  to  estab 
lish  a  true  church  for  themselves,  but  one  that 
should  endure  and  be  a  blessing  to  all  posterity. 
But  whither  shall  they  go  ?  Sir  Walter  Raleigh 
a  few  years  before  had  published  his  "  Discovery  of 
Guiana,"  and  the  gorgeousness  of  his  description 
had  well-nigh  captivated  the  sober  imagination  of 
some  of  the  Pilgrims.  He  calls  it  "  a  mighty  rich 
and  beautiful  empire,  lying  under  the  equinoctial 
line,"  —  its  capital  "  that  great  and  golden  city 
which  the  Spaniards  call  El  Dorado,  and  the  na 
tives  Manoa,  and  for  greatness,  richness,  and  excel 
lent  seat,  it  far  excelleth  any  of  the  world."  He 
sailed  up  the  Orinoco  in  1595,  in  quest  of  this 
imaginary  city.  "  On  both  sides  of  the  river  we 
passed  the  most  beautiful  country  that  ever  mine 
eyes  beheld,  —  all  fair,  green  grass,  the  deer  cross 
ing  in  every  path,  the  birds  towards  the  evening 
singing  on  every  tree  with  a  thousand  several  tunes, 
and  every  stone  we  stopped  to  take  up  promised 
either  gold  or  silver  by  his  complexion.  For  health, 
good  air,  pleasure,  and  riches,  I  am  resolved  it  can 
not  be  equalled  by  any  region  either  in  the  East  or 
West."  *  Some,  and  "  none  of  the  meanest "  of 
the  company,  were  earnest  for  this  land  of  eternal 
summer ;  but  they  were  outvoted  by  the  majority, 


*  Raleigh's  Works,  Vol.  VIII.  pp.  381,  398,  427,  442.    Quoted  by 
Young,  Chronicles,  p.  52. 

26* 


306  THE 


and  Virginia  was  finally  fixed  upon,  not  without 
misgivings  on  the  part  of  many.  What  a  future 
was  depending  on  that  debate  and  that  decision  ! 

It  comes  not  within  our  scope  to  detail  the 
heart-sickening  perplexities  which  intervened  be 
tween  their  purpose  and  the  execution.  After  de 
lays  and  difficulties,  the  Speedwell  is  got  ready, 
and  is  lying  at  Delftbaven  waiting  to  take  its 
sorrowful  freight  on  another  and  more  perilous 
exile.  The  younger  and  more  vigorous  portion  of 
the  company,  numbering  about  one  hundred  and 
twenty,  are  to  go  first  ;  the  elder  and  more  infirm 
are  to  tarry  behind,  and  follow  on  when  Providence 
shall  prepare  the  way.  But  among  those  who  are 
going  are  Brewster  and  Bradford,  not  now  the  pale- 
faced  boy,  but  the  grown  man  of  thirty,  schooled  in 
misfortune,  unconquerable  through  faith,  and  wise 
and  prudent  by  experience. 

Richard  Sayer  may  have  been  present  to  witness 
that  scene,  memorable  in  history,  and  described  in 
Bradford's  style  of  Hebrew  simplicity  and  pathos. 
Delfthaven  is  the  harbor  of  the  fine  old  city  of 
Delft,  lying  on  the  Meuse,  about  fourteen  miles 
south  of  Leyden.  This  fourteen  miles  the  Pilgrims 
are  to  pass  over  by  the  canal.  It  is  the  last  of 
July,  and  the  barge  takes  them  over  the  polders 
alive  with  thriving  industry,  and  past  the  neat 
cottages  with  tulips  and  roses  beneath  the  win 
dows;  but  the  beautiful  prospect  on  either  side 
must  have  looked  sad  enough  to  the  departing 
exiles.  They  pass  through  the  city  of  Delft,  and 
thence  the  barge  comes  into  the  "  Haven,"  which  is 


THE    PILGRIM.  307 

simply  a  canal,  extending  from  the  city  down  to 
the  river,  lined  on  either  bank  with  old  trees  and 
antique  houses  with  gable  ends.  And  now  the 
barge  has  reached  the  wharf,  where  the  Speedwell 
lies  ready  to  receive  them. 

Many  of  the  company  who  are  to  be  left  behind, 
Robinson  among  them,  have  accompanied  them 
to  the  ship,  to  bid  them  farewell.  They  all  kneel 
down  together  upon  the  wharf,  with  faces  turned 
heavenward,  and  the  tears  streaming  down  their 
care-worn  cheeks,  while  Robinson  in  tones  of  be 
seeching  earnestness  sends  up  his  parting  prayer 
under  the  open  sky,  and  before  its  last  plaintive 
tone  has  died  away  the  whole  company  with  break 
ing  hearts  are  sobbing  aloud.  Some  burly  Dutch 
men  who  stood  not  far  off  brushed  the  tears  from 
their  eyes  as  they  witnessed  the  holy  scene. 

Then,  after  embracing  each  other  again  and 
again,  they  parted,  —  many  of  them  never  to  meet 
more.  Those  left  behind  waved  their  hands  till 
the  bark  faded  away  on  the  Meuse  towards  the 
open  sea,  straining  their  eyes  after  it  till  it  melted 
in  the  blue  distance,  and  then  returning  with  heavy 
hearts  to  Leyden.  Bartlett  says,  an  old  mill  is 
standing  on  the  point  of  land  that  juts  out  into  the 
river,  and  marks  the  spot  where  they  must  have 
watched  the  vessel  as  it  faded  from  their  view. 


CHAPTER    VII. 


"  There  never  needs  to  chant  their  deeds,  like  swan  that  lies  a-dying, 
So  far  their  name  by  trump  of  fame  around  the  sphere  is  flying." 


THE  reader  knows  well  enough  the  result  of  the 
embarkation  just  described;  how  the  Speedwell 
touched  at  Southampton,  and  was  there  joined  by 
the  Mayflower,  and  how  both  set  sail  together  for 
the  New  World ;  how  the  Speedwell  put  back  as 
unseaworthy,  while  the  Mayflower  took  the  pas 
sengers  of  both  ships,  with  the  exception  of  about 
twenty,  who  with  another  sorrowful  parting  were 
left  behind  in  England ;  how  the  Mayflower  held 
on  her  course  alone  for  Virginia,  but  the  Lord 
in  his  providence  shaped  her  end  otherwise,  since 
Cape  Cod  projected  its  encircling  arm  into  the  sea, 
and  arrested  their  course  and  brought  them  safely 
into  its  harbor;  how  after  various  soundings  and 
debarkations  they  came  into  Plymouth  Bay  and 
stepped  upon  Plymouth  Rock  ;  how,  on  that  bleak 
and  barren  shore,  and  not  on  the  paradisiacal  banks 
of  the  Orinoco,  chilled  by  wintry  storms,  and  not 
fanned  by  breezes  that  wafted  the  perfume  of 
eternal  flowers,  they  laid  the  foundations  of  their 
church,  which  was  to  gather  the  unborn  generations 


THE    PILGRIM.  309 

into  its  fold,  and  of  an  empire  that  was  to  stretch 
from  sea  to  sea.  What  a  wonderful  Providence 
was  that,  which  led  on  the  little  company  that  met 
for  prayer  in  that  okj  manor-house  at  Scrooby ! 
The  pale-faced,  conscientious  boy,  who  walked  over 
every  Sunday  from  Austerfield  to  hear  Clifton 
preach,  has  come  in  the  Mayflower,  a  full-grown 
man;  he  has  prayed  much  and  studied  much, — 
has  learned  Greek  and  Hebrew  from  an  insatiable 
desire  to  read  the  Divine  oracles  in  the  original 

o 

tongues,  and  u  see  them  in  all  their  native  beauty." 
Meanwhile  Richard  Sayer  is  with  the  remainder 
of  the  congregation  at  Leydcn,  and  with  them  is 
waiting  a  favorable  opportunity  to  join  the  new 
exiles.  His  father  had  made  strenuous  exertions 
to  recover  the  paternal  estate  at  Colchester,  and  a 
long  and  bitter  controversy  had  been  the  conse 
quence.  It  ended  in  total  alienation  between  the 
Sayers  of  Holland  and  the  Sayers  and  Knyvets  of 
England,  and  the  former  were  threatened  with  a 
criminal  prosecution  if  they  set  foot  again  in  the 
land  of  their  fathers.  This,  with  the  motives  al 
ready  given,  may  have  urged  him  to  quit  Holland 
for  ever. 

His  father  died  in  1629,  and  not  till  then  does 
the  way  seem  to  have  been  clear  to  him  to  embark 
his  fortunes  with  the  Pilgrims.  He  then  came  in 
possession  of  his  paternal  inheritance,  and  he  made 
immediate  preparations  to  carry  his  purpose  into  ex 
ecution.  Robinson,  the  sainted  pastor,  whose  char 
acter  must  have  won  upon  his  heart,  and  whose 
congregation  answered  so  fully  to  his  ideal  of  a 


310  THE    PILGRIM. 

true  Christian  polity,  had  gone  to  his  rest.  He  died 
in  1625,  longing  for  a  reunion  with  his  absent 
flock.  The  portion  left  at  Leyden,  and  the  portion 
who  had  gone  to  New  Plymouth,  seem  to  have 
been  like  two  lobes  of  a  heart  torn  cruelly  asunder, 
and  seeking  to  be  joined  again,  and  to  beat  in 
unison. 

Robinson's  letters  to  the  absent  portion  show  the 
most  ardent  affection  and  tender  solicitude.  Why 
he  never  came  over  does  not  appear  very  clearly  in 
Bradford's  History,  or  in  the  letters  which  passed 
between  the  two  divisions  of  the  Pilgrim  church ;  but 
it  since  appears  that  the  jealous  eyes  of  James  and 
his  bishops  were  upon  the  whole  enterprise,  watch 
ing  all  its  movements,  and  that  the  agents  of  the 
Virginia  Company  had  secret  and  positive  orders  to 
keep  Robinson  separated  from  his  Plymouth  flock. 
Always  longing  to  look  once  more  upon  the  faces 
so  cruelly  parted  from  him  at  Delfthaven,  he  yet 
died  without  the  sight,  and  tears  of  a  truer  and 
more  tender  affection  never  fell  upon  a  good 
man's  grave. 

After  Robinson's  death,  the  remnant  of  the  Ley- 
den  congregation  came  over  and  joined  their  breth 
ren.  In  1629  came  thirty-five,  with  their  families. 
In  1630  came  sixty  more,  and  among  them  was 
Richard  Sayer.  He  had  settled  his  affairs  at  Am 
sterdam,  after  his  father's  death,  given  up  all  hope 
of  recovering  his  paternal  estates  at  Colchester,  be 
come  heart-sick  with  the  controversy  and  with  the 
selfishness  of  man,  sick  with  the  noise  of  sects  that 
filled  the  country  with  strife  and  had  but  recently 


THE    PILGRIM.  311 

stained  its  beautiful  fields  with  blood  ;  and,  sighing 
for  a  peaceful  retreat,  and  a  pure  and  unmolested 
worship,  he  gathered  up  his  fortune,  which  must 
have  been  considerable,  and  embarked  with  the  Ley- 
den  exiles,  with  whom  he  landed  at  Plymouth,  May 
8, 1630.  His  company  was  the  last  that  came  over 
•from  Leyden,  it  being  the  last  of  the  Scrooby  con 
gregation  that  remained  in  Holland,  and  with  them 
all  of  it  that  survived  in  this  world  was  gathered 
once  more  in  sweet  and  loving  fellowship  in  the 
Western  wilderness.  How  joyous  must  have  been 
the  first  songs  which  they  lifted  up  to  the  cold  sky, 
when  no  hounds  were  on  the  scent,  and  only  God 
and  his  angels  were  listening  ! 


CHAPTER    VIII. 


Among  the  watching  hills  a  nook  they  found 
Where  the  hushed  winds  a  holy  Sabbath  keep  ; 

Where  war's  red  foot  had  never  dyed  the  ground, 
Nor  ravening  wolves  disturbed  the  gentle  sheep." 


THEIR  first  settlement  at  New  Plymouth  was 
along  the  street  still  known  as  Leyden  Street,  made 
up  at  first  of  rudely-built  houses,  surrounded  by 
a  palisade.  In  the  midst  rose  a  larger  building, 
which  served  both  as  a  council-house  and  a  place 
of  worship;  and  here,  until  they  found  a  pastor, 
they  gathered  as  at  first  around  the  godly  "  Elder 
Brewster,"  who  in  teaching  "  was  very  stirring,"  and 
"  had  a  singular  good  gift  in  prayer."  Among  the 
commendable  qualities  of  his  prayers,  brevity  was 
one ;  and  perhaps  to  this  he  owed  that  other  of  pith 
and  searching  pungency  already  described,  whereby 
he  "  ripped  up  the  conscience  before  the  Lord." 

Outside  the  palisade  the  field  was  staked  out 
into  lots,  in  which  each  family  cultivated  its  patch 
of  beans  and  Indian  com.  Notwithstanding  their 
trials  and  hardships,  sometimes  from  the  winter 
cold,  sometimes  from  the  drouth  of  the  summer 
heat,  sometimes  from  sickness  and  famine,  and 


THE    PILGRIM.  313 

sometimes  from  fear  of  the  savage,  their  cheerful 
faith  never  deserted  them  ;  their  hyrrin  rose  every 
morning  over  the  forest  woods,  and  those  who  sank 
into  the  grave  departed  hence  full  of  the  hope  of 
immortality.  They  never  looked  back  with  regrets 
or  repinings,  being,  as  one  of  them  had  said,  "  well 
weaned  from  the  delicate  milk  of  their  mother  coun 
try,  and  inured  to  the  difficulties  of  a  strange  and 
hard  land." 

It  soon  appeared,  however,  that  they  had  pitched 
upon  a  spot  whose  soil  was  poor  and  barren.  We 
fancy  that  those  of  the  company  who  had  been 
strenuous  for  removal  to  Guiana  thought  their 
counsels  had  been  unwisely  set  at  naught,  as  they 
contrasted  in  imagination  the  sand-fields  of  New 
Plymouth  with  the  banks  of  the  Orinoco,  and  their 
plains  of  refulgent  green,  where  the  birds  sang  a 
thousand  tunes,  and  "  the  deer  came  down  feeding 
by  the  water's  side  as  if  they  had  been  used  to  a 
keeper's  call."  At  any  rate,  they  began  to  grow  dis 
contented  with  their  situation,  and  file  off'  in  little 
companies  in  search  of  greener  spots  and  a  kindlier 
soil.  Hence  we  find,  that,  within  fourteen  years  af 
ter  the  last  remnant  of  the  church  at  Leyden  had 
been  brought  over,  serious  apprehensions  arose  lest 
it  should  be  dissolved,  because  many  of  the  inhab 
itants  had  left  the  town,  and  others  still  contemplat 
ed  leaving  on  account  of  the  "  barrenness  of  the 
place."  Not  less  than  three  little  sub-colonies  had 
gone  out  from  the  parent  colony,  so  that,  in  the  lan 
guage  of  the  records,  "this  poor  church  was  left 
like  an  ancient  mother  grown  old  and  forsaken  of 


314  THE    PILGRIM. 

her  children,  in  regard  to  their  bodily  presence  and 
personal  helpfulness ;  her  ancient  members  being 
most  of  them  worn  away  by  death,  and  those  of 
later  times  being  like  children  translated  into  other 
families  ;  and  she  like  a  Avidow  left  only  to  trust  in 
God.  Thus  she  that  had  made  many  rich,  became 
herself  poor." 

Oddly  enough,  however,  as  it  seems  to  us  at  this 
distance  of  time,  they  sought  better  situations  by  re 
moving  farther  down  the  Cape,  over  its  downs  and 
sand-hills.  Two  sub-colonies  went  forth  in  this  di 
rection,  and  formed  settlements  near  to  each  other 
in  localities  known  by  the  Indians  as  Sursuit  and 
Mattakeese,  the  sites  severally  of  the  present  towns 
of  East  Dennis  and  Yarmouth.*  These  two  settle 
ments  were  seven  or  eight  miles  from  each  other, 
and  were  both  at  first  included  in  the  same  town 
ship.  One  of  them,  that  of  Sursuit,  it  lies  in  my 
way  to  describe. 

As  you  travel  eastward  from  Plymouth,  passing 
down  the  Cape  on  the  northern  shore  through  the 
modern  towns  of  Barnstable,  Yarmouth  Port,  North 
Dennis,  and  East  Dennis,  you  very  soon  discover 
what  must  have  been  the  attractions  which  drew 
the  children  away  from  their  poor  mother  at  Plym 
outh,  till  she  felt  forsaken.  Between  the  gentle  ele 
vations  along  the  shore,  and  the  sand-hills  that  rise 
farther  inland,  there  is  an  interval  which  contains 
rich  alluvial  deposits  watered  by  unfailing  springs. 
They  form  some  of  the  best  soil  in  Massachusetts, 

*•  Mattakeese,  however,  extended  some  distance  within  the  present 
limits  of  East  Barnstable. 


THE    PILGRIM.  315 

and  are  like  oases  in  the  desert.  Along  these  hollows 
and  basins  lay  the  region  of  Mattakeese.  Passing 
farther  on  through  Yarmouth  into  Dennis,  and  as 
cending  an  elevation  called  Scargo  Hill,  you  look 
over  into  green  meadows,  with  rank  waving  grass, 
through  which  "  Sursuit  Creek "  and  "  Quivet 
Creek"  wind  with  soft  music  to  the  sea.  These 
are  the  meadows  of  Sursuit,  on  whose  margin  the 
pretty  village  of  East  Dennis  now  stands,  but  which 
in  the  Pilgrim  days  had  only  here  and  there  an  In 
dian  wigwam  with  its  smoke  creeping  lazily  into 
the  air. 

About  the  year  1643,  a  company  led  by  Richard 
Sayer  left  Plymouth,  passed  down  through  Matta 
keese,  which  had  already  begun  to  be  colonized, 
kept  on  to  Scargo  Hill,  and  looked  down  upon  the 
meadows  of  Sursuit  and  Quivet,  shut  in  on  three 
sides  by  sand-hills,  and  open  on  the  left  to  the  sea. 
Could  there  be  a  more  charming  retreat  from 
schouts  and  bailiffs,  or  a  place  less  likely  to  be  dis 
turbed  by  the  noises  of  the  world  and  the  strife  of 
tongues  ?  Descending  into  this  quiet  nook,  he  and 
his  company  pitched  their  tents  and  selected  the 
sites  of  their  future  habitations.  ' 

Between  the  two  creeks  whose  Indian  names  we 
have  given  above,  there  was  a  tongue  of  land  called 
"  Quivet  Neck,"  made  up  in  part  of  alluvial  depos 
its,  and  forming  therefore  the  best  and  most  fertile 
soil.  Richard  Sayer  purchased  the  greater  part  of 
this  neck  of  land,  and  built  his  house  upon  it.  On 
this  gentle  swell  he  could  hear  the  crooning  of  the 
two  brooks  on  either  side  of  him  as  they  wound 


316  THE    PILGRIM. 

through  the  meadows,  and  he  could  look  over  the 
green  interval  into  the  broad  blue  ocean,  always 
sounding  with  the  march  and  countermarch  of  its 
waves.  After  two  hundred  years,  the  house  which 
he  built  has  disappeared ;  but  the  precise  spot  is  still 
to  be  seen  where  his  household  gods  found  undis 
turbed  repose.  We  do  not  know  all  the  names  of 
the  first  company,  but  some  time  afterwards  we  find 
among  his  neighbors  and  associates  John  Wing, 
Kenelm  Winslow,  John  Dillingham,  and  Zachariah 
Paddock.  Kenelm  Winslow  was  a  brother  of  Gov 
ernor  Winslow,  and  settled  afterwards  at  Marsh- 
field.  Of  Zachariah  we  shall  get  a  glimpse  in  the 
following  chapter. 

Notwithstanding  his  peace-loving  habits,  the  Pil 
grim,  as  tradition  says,  held  a  military  office,  and 
lost  an  arm  by  a  gun-shot  wound  in  some  conflict 
with  the  Indians.  He  also  appears  on  the  records 
as  constable  of  Yarmouth,  and  once  on  some  com 
mittee  in  ecclesiastical  affairs. 


CHAPTER     IX. 


•'  And  may  the  sun  of  life,  when  near  its  setting, 
Clothe  in  more  beauteous  gleams  the  distant  hills." 


RICHARD  SAYER,  before  he  left  Plymouth,  had  mar 
ried  Dorothy  Thacher.  She  was  a  sister  of  Antho 
ny  Thacher,  who  removed  from  Plymouth  to  Matta- 
keese,  and  whose  name  is  familiarly  known  in  the 
Pilgrim  annals.  The  children  of  this  marriage 
were  three  sons,  Knyvet,  Paul,  and  Silas,  and  one 
daughter  named  Deborah. 

With  this  family  gathered  about  him,  he  passed 
the  latter  half  of  a  long  life  in  this  peaceful  retreat, 
whose  seclusion  seems  to  have  been  fully  congenial 
with  his  gentle  spirit.  Before  we  take  leave  of  him, 
we  will  endeavor,  from  what  material  we  have,  to 
reproduce  his  surroundings,  and  put  them  as  dis 
tinctly  as  we  can  upon  the  canvas.  It  is  a  picture 
of  primitive  manners,  which  contrasts  strangely 
enough  with  those  two  hundred  years  later  among 
the  descendants  of  the  Pilgrims. 

On  Quivet  Neck  he  has  built  a  house  one-story 
high,  roofed  with  thatch,  and  fronting  south  with 
such  precision  as  to  serve  as  a  sun-dial  and  indicate 
the  hour  of  noon.  The  fireplace  is  made  of  rough 

27* 


318  THE    PILGRIM. 

stone ;  the  chimney,  of  boards,  plastered  over  in 
side  with  clay.  Both  the  fireplace  and  the  chim 
ney-flue  are  of  immense  capacity,  so  that,  after  a 
rousing  fire  has  been  kindled  on  a  winter's  evening, 
the  family  can  occupy  both  the  spaces  on  each  side 
of  it,  and  look  up  through  the  chimney  opening, 
and  gaze  at  the  stars.  What  visions  of  other  days 
must  have  come  over  the  old  Pilgrim,  as  he  sat  there 
and  heard  the  whistling  winds  and  the  roaring  on 
the  sea-beach,  and  looked  up  through  his  chimney- 
flue  and  saw  the  same  planets  that  twinkled  upon 
him  on  the  Princen  Graat  of  old  Amsterdam  !  Bat 
the  neighbors  come  in  during  the  long  evenings,  to 
talk  over  the  news  of  the  Colony,  and  be  regaled 
with  mugs  of  cider  and  barley-beer.  John  Wing, 
John  Dillingham,  John  Grey,  Richard  Taylor,  and 
some  others,  have  also  nestled  into  the  quiet  nook 
of  Sursuit;  but  of  all  the  neighbors  Zachariah  Pad 
dock  comes  oftenest  and  stays  the  longest,  yea,  gets 
close  up  to  Deborah  in  the  chimney-corner,  and 
stays  there  till  all  the  rest  have  retired ;  and  they 
two  look  up  together  through  the  flue  and  count 
the  stars.  Zachariah  is  the  son  of  Robert  Paddock, 
who  was  the  son  of  Zachariah,  who  came  over,  say 
my  family  papers,  in  the  Mayflower;  but  he  cer 
tainly  did  not,  for  his  name  is  not  on  the  list,  as 
everybody  may  see  by  looking  at  it.  But  no  mat 
ter.  Zachariah  Paddock  got  over  some  way,  and 
his  grandson  Zachariah  is  bent  on  star-gazing  in 
the  chimney-corner  with  Deborah  Sayer. 

Deborah  has  grown  into  a  comely  and  healthy 
maiden,  without  any  hacking  cough,  and  with  no 


THE    PILGRIM.  319 

occasion  for  either  valerian  or  homreopathic  glob 
ules.  Well  she  might,  for  she  wears  in  cold  weath 
er  a  flannel  gown,  and  in  warm  weather  a  gown 
of  linen  homespun,  both  of  which  she  had  to  spin 
and  weave  herself;  the  latter  from  flax  which  the 
boys,  Knyvet,  Paul,  and  Silas,  raised  on  Qaivet 
Neck.  It  is  very  fortunate  for  Deborah  that  she  is 
thus  getting  strength  and  bloom  for  future  years, 
for  by  and  by  she  and  Zachariah  will  have  eight 
children  to  bring  up  as  a  contribution  to  the  rising 
Colony. 

A  meeting-house  had  been  built  between  the  two 
settlements  of  Mattakeese  and  Sursuit,  but  much 
nearer  to  the  former,  and  there  the  inhabitants  of 
both  villages  met  together  on  Sunday,  to  listen  to 
Rev.  Marmaduke  Matthews  ;  an  exceedingly  good 
man,  but  whose  goodness  sometimes  lacked  the 
ballast  of  common  sense.  It  stood  not  far  from  the 
site  of  the  present  Orthodox  meeting-hous-e  in  Yar 
mouth,  and  thither  on  Sunday  morning  the  people 
might  be  seen  wending  their  way,  from  either  set 
tlement,  for  the  worship  of  God.  The  meeting 
house  has  neither  bell  nor  steeple,  but  a  thatched 
roof,  and  perhaps  port-holes,  with  the  muzzles  of 
muskets,  if  need  be,  grimly  pointing  through ;  for 
though  there  is  no  danger  of  interruption  from  po 
lice  officials,  yet  there  may  be  from  Indian  savages. 
The  Colony  Court  has  passed  a  law,  that,  "  if  any 
lazy,  slothful,  or  profane  persons,  in  any  of  the 
towns,  neglect  to  come  to  the  public  worship  of 
God,  they  shall  forfeit  for  every  such  default  ten 
shillings,  or  be  publicly  whipped,"  for  our  good 


320  THE    PILGRIM. 

ancestors  judged  that  people  had  better  be  brought 
to  a  knowledge  of  Christianity  through  flagellation, 
than  not  at  all.  As  South  says,  ironically,  of  the 
Roman  Catholic  penance,  they  made  thongs  and 
whipcord  essentials  of  salvation. 

Imagine,  then,  on  a  calm  summer's  morning,  the 
people  of  Sursuit  summoned  to  the  place  of  prayer. 
No  bell  pours  out  its  solemn  music,  but  in  the 
place  of  it  some  one  "  beats  upon  the  drum,"  and 
that  is  the  roll-call  to  church  which  is  borne  on  the 
breeze  over  the  Sursuit  meadows.  It  is  six  or  seven 
miles  to  church,  and  there  is  not  a  vehicle  in  the 
place,  for  they  had  not  yet  come  into  use,  and  both 
the  old  Pilgrims  and  young  must  go  to  hear  Marma- 
duke  Matthews.  The  procession  is  soon  on  its  way ; 
Richard  Sayer  is  on  horseback,  with  his  wife  Dor 
othy  behind  him  ;  and  they  ride  just  half  the  dis 
tance,  and  fasten  the  horse  by  the  way-side  for 
Goodman  Wing  and  his  wife  to  take  it  and  ride  in 
their  turn.  By  this  arrangement  the  same  horse 
accommodated  two  or  three  neighbors,  the  elderly 
people  always  riding  a  part  of  the  distance,  while 
the  young  men  and  maidens  walked  the  whole  six 
or  seven  miles  without  weariness.  In  this  way 
came  the  procession,  winding  round  Scargo  Hill,  the 
old  people  riding  and  walking  alternately,  the  young 
people  walking  the  whole  distance,  which  was  short 
enough  when  such  persons  as  Zachariah  Paddock 
and  Deborah  Sayer  happened  to  fall  into  company 
with  each  other.  Deborah  has  doffed  her  home 
spun,  and  appears  in  clean  calico,  one  dress  of 
which  serves  her  for  a  lifetime.  It  has  short  sleeves, 


THE    PILGRIM. 

with  three  ruffs  on  each  arm,  and  she  wears  long 
gloves,  made  of  horse-hair,  that  come  up  to  the 
elbow.  Her  shoes  are  made  of  broadcloth,  with 
wooden  heels  and  peaked  toes  turning  up  at  the 
end.  But  she  carries  her  shoes  in  her  hand  till  she 
arrives  at  church,  except  when  Zachariah  has  the 
gallantry  to  relieve  her  of  the  burden.  Arrived  at 
church,  how  grateful  and  fervent  must  have  been 
the  devotions  of  these  people,  after  all  their  sacri 
fices,  escapes,  and  labors.  Their  songs  of  praise 
need  not  be  suppressed  now,  but  sound  full  and 
joyous  over  the  woods  and  hills.  They  sit  in  their 
plain  and  neat  attire  under  Marmaduke  Matthews, 
who  measures  out  his  sermon  to  them  by  the  hour 
glass.  The  sexton  turns  the  glass  when  the  sermon 
begins,  and  the  preacher  must  keep  on  till  the  sand 
runs  out,  whether  his  ideas  have  run  out  or  not. 
It  is  not  a  very  difficult  rule,  however,  for  Fatfier 
Matthews,  who  is  said  to  have  used  words  without 
much  reference  to  thoughts,  and  to  have  been 
called  to  account  by  his  brethren  for  preaching 
heresy  when  he  was  not  aware  of  it. 

Richard  Sayer  lived  to  be  the  patriarch  of  the 
little  colony  of  Sursuit,  and  to  see  his  children  and 
his  children's  children  settled  around  him.  Fields 
of  corn,  of  beans,  and  of  flax  covered  the  gentle 
acclivities,  and  the  tall  grass  wnved  along  the  green 
margin  of  the  brooks  ;  and  without  wealth  or  want 
the  little  community  thrived  and  prospered.  Indus 
try  and  frugality  were  in  the  place  of  riches,  and 
piety  and  virtue  brought  down  the  Divine  bless- 


322  THE    PILGRIM. 

ing  without  interruption.  These  homebred  virtues 
were  guarded  by  strict  laws  arid  social  maxims. 
It  is  related  by  an  old  chronicler,  that  a  certain 
neighbor  of  his  father  had  four  sons,  whose  habits 
of  profusion  excited  the  alarm  of  the  village ;  "  for 
the  oldest  got  a  pair  of  boots,  the  second  an  over 
coat,  the  third  a  watch,  and  the  fourth  a  pair  of 
shoe-buckles";  and  the  neighbors  all  shook  their 
heads,  and  whispered  to  each  other,  "  That  family 
is  on  the  high  road  to  insolvency."  *  The  posses 
sion  of  any  one  of  these  articles  of  luxury  would 
perhaps  have  done  serious  damage  to  the  suit  of 
Zachariah  Paddock. 

Richard  Sayer  was  once  or  twice  summoned 
from  his  seclusion,  as  Deputy  to  the  Colony  Court 
at  Plymouth.  But  he  seems  to  have  found  what 
he  sighed  after  amid  the  strifes  and  the  tumults  of 
the-  Old  World,  —  a  place  far  away  from  the  ru 
mors  of  oppression,  deceit,  and  bloodshed,  where 
he  might  worship  God  with  a  free  conscience  and 
breathe  out  his  soul  in  peace.  He  lived  to  a  green 
and  honored  old  age,  and  died  in  1676.  He  had 
seen  eighty-six  years  ere  he  rested  from  his  labors ; 
and  the  people  of  the  village  of  Sursuit  that  grew 
up  around  him  followed  him  to  his  peaceful  grave. 
Children  and  children's  children  were  there  to  talk 
of  his  virtues  around  his  bier.  His  ashes  repose  in 
the  old  Yarmouth  churchyard,  where  one  of  his 
descendants,  with  filial  reverence  and  affection,  has 
erected  a  costly  monument  to  his  memory. 

*  Pratt's  History  of  Eastham,  pp.  177,  178. 


THE    PILGRIM.  323 

Pass  through  the  modern  village  of  East  Dennis, 
or  roam  among  the  monuments  of  its  churchyard,' 
and  you  find  that  almost  every  third  person,  whether 
among  the  living  or  the  dead,  belongs  to  the  line 
of  the  old  Pilgrim  and  patriarch.  Look  around 
there  on  the  cultivated  fields,  or  the  industrious, 
virtuous,  and  thriving  community,  and  you  see 
the  best  monuments  of  his  sacrifices  and  toils. 
Pass  through  the  land,  north,  south,  east,  and 
west,  and  you  meet  with  his  innumerable  descend 
ants  among  the  busy  and  teeming  population. 


CHAPTER    X. 


"  They  lay  down  two  grand  ground-works  on  which  their  follow 
ing  fabric  is  to  be  erected;  —  first,  only  to  take  what  was  held  forth  in 
God's  word,  leaving  nothing  to  church  practice  or  human  prudence, 
as  but  the  iron  legs  and  clay  toes  of  that  statue  whose  head  and 
whole  body  ought  to  be  pure  Scripture  gold ;  —  second,  because  one 
day  teacheth  another,  they  will  not  be  tied  on  Tuesday  morning  to 
maintain  their  tenets  on  Monday  night,  if  a  new  discovery  intervene." 
—  FULLER  on  the  Pilgrims,  Church  History,  Vol.  III.  p.  462. 


WE  will  not  take  our  final  leave  of  the  good 
men  whose  labors  and  sacrifices  we  have  been  re 
viewing,  without  a  filial  tribute  to  their  virtues. 
This  we  do,  because,  with  all  the  eulogy  bestowed 
upon  them  by  popular  historians  and  orators,  we 
doubt  if  their  principles  are  yet  fully  understood. 
They  are  constantly  confounded  with  the  Massa 
chusetts  Puritans,  whereas  they  were  entirely  differ 
ent  in  character,  temper,  principles,  and  policy. 

We  have  already  stated  that  the  three  leading 
minds  of  the  Scrooby  church  were  Robinson,  Brew- 
ster,  and  Bradford.  Their  spirit  and  doctrines  be 
came  the  soul  of  the  Pilgrim  enterprise  from  the 
beginning.  Of  the  first  we  have  said  enough  per 
taining  to  his  large,  heavenly,  and  tolerant  spirit. 
Brewster  lived  to  a  serene  old  age.  He  died  in 


THE    PILGRIM.  325 

1644,  aged  84  years.  With  all  his  perseverance 
and  energy,  he  was  a  man  of  great  kindliness 
and  modesty.  Eminently  qualified  for  the  pastoral 
office,  his  diffidence  and  profound  reverence  for  it 
prevented  his  assuming  it,  though  in  the  humbler 
station  of  "  Elder  "  he  virtually  discharged  all  its 
duties  up  to  the  year  1629,  when  a  regular  pastor 
was  settled  at  Plymouth.  More  than  any  other  man 
the  originator  and  father  of  the  Pilgrim  church,  he 
shared  as  a  private  citizen  in  all  its  toils,  spent  his 
fortune  in  the  enterprise,  and  almost  to  the  day  of 
his  death  worked  with  his  hands  in  the  field.  But 
all  the  more  for  his  meekness  and  modesty  did  his 
example  shed  its  hallowed  light  and  diffuse  his  be 
nignant  and  pious  spirit  through  the  rising  colony. 
Almost  to  the  day  of  his  death  he  kept  about  his 
humble  duties,  and  at  the  last  he  seemed  not  so 
much  to  die  as  to  subside  into  the  bosom  of  God's 
love,  like  a  wave  sinking  into  the  bosom  of  the  sea. 
He  took  one  day  to  his  bed,  where  he  lay  without  a 
pang  or  a  groan ;  but  as  the  evening  was  coming 
on  "  he  drew  his  breath  short,"  and  some  minutes 
before  his  last  he  "  drew  his  breath  long,"  and  on 
that  tranquil  sigh  his  spirit  was  wafted  away. 

Bradford  died  in  1657,  aged  69.  He  was  bom 
and  bred  to  agricultural  pursuits ;  and  if  the  words 
of  the  aged  Clifton  had  not  touched  his  youthful 
heart,  he  would  probably  have  lived  and  died  among 
the  yeomanry  of  Old  England.  As  Governor  of  the 
Colony  through  most  of  the  first  thirty  years  of  its 
existence,  he  managed  its  affairs  with  consummate 
wisdom.  He  was  just  even  to  a  scruple  in  all  his 

28 


326  THE    PILGRIM. 

dealings  with  the  Indians  ;  his  energy  was  tempered 
with  mildness ;  he  had  all  the  sagacity  of  the  prac 
tical  man,  with  the  dove-like  simplicity  of  the  Chris 
tian.  As  a  writer  and  historian,  he  has  rare  merits, 
for  he  tells  his  story  with  the  perspicuity  and  ease 
of  the  scholar,  yet  with  the  unconsciousness  of  the 
child.  With  none  of  the  pedantry  of  Cotton  Math 
er,  his  style  has  sometimes  a  peculiar  charm  and 
pathos  on  account  of  its  artlessness,  and  steals  on 
the  reader's  heart  like  the  plaintive  narratives  of 
Scripture,  which  must  have  been  his  classic  model. 
More  than  all,  though  the  faith  of  Bradford  was 
strongly  puritanic,  it  had  not  the  least  tinge  of 
fanaticism,  but  glowed  with  the  ardors  of  Christian 
charity. 

Other  names  will  readily  occur  to  the  reader, 
especially  those  of  Winslow,  Cushman,  and  Carver. 
But  the  men  now  described,  more  than  any  others, 
stamped  their  characters  on  the  young  Colony,  and 
shaped  its  ends.  And  it  is  not  a  violation  of  his 
torical  verity  to  say,  that  no  people  ever  carried  out 
their  principles  more  faithfully  than  the  Pilgrim 
church  and  its  dependencies.  Constantly  confound 
ing  the  Plymouth  men  with  the  Massachusetts  men, 
it  is  common  for  writers  and  speakers  to  apologize 
for  their  u  bigotry "  and  "  intolerance  "  with  that 
stale  and  wretched  excuse,  "  the  spirit  of  the  age," 
as  if  it  were  not  the  very  purpose  of  a  true  church 
to  rise  above  the  age,  and  illumine  its  darkness 
and  reform  its  abuses.*  These  men  need  no  such 

*  A  late  writer,   referring  to  this  impotent  plea,  though   totally 


THE    PILGRIM.  327 

apology,  and  there  is  not  a  church  of  the  nineteenth 
century  which  is  competent  to  teach  them  a  first 
lesson  in  the  principles  of  toleration. 

It  will  be  seen  from  the  preceding  narratives, 
that  the  Scrooby  church  was  gathered  from  the  mid 
dle  and  humbler  walks  of  English  life ;  from  a  class 
that  had  never  been  corrupted  by  the  possession  of 
power.  After  they  were  "harried"  out  of  Eng 
land,  they  dwelt  twelve  years  in  Holland,  shut  in 
from  the  great  world  among  themselves,  and  draw 
ing  closer  than  ever  around  the  Head  of  the  Church. 
During  that  twelve  years,  those  who  were  children 
and  youth  when  they  came  out  of  England  had 
grown  up  into  men  and  women  under  the  influence 
of  the  saintly  Robinson,  so  that  when  they  came 
to  Plymouth  these  were  the  active  portion,  the 
very  muscle  of  the  Colony.  They  had  imbibed  the 
spirit  of  Robinson,  as  it  glows  through  his  farewell 
address.  The  church  at  Leyden  owned  fellowship 
with  all  other  churches  that  owned  Christ  as  their 
head,  and  they  brought  the  same  principle  with 
them  in  the  Mayflower.  So  early  as  1641,  an  ordi 
nance  passed  the  General  Court  at  Plymouth,  that 

"  No  INJUNCTION  SHOULD  BE  PUT  ON  ANY  CHURCH  OR 
CHURCH-MEMBER,  AS  TO  DOCTRINE,  WORSHIP,  OR  DIS 
CIPLINE,  WHETHER  FOR  SUBSTANCE  OR  CIRCUMSTANCE, 

misapprehending  the  Pilgrims,  says,  with  much  pith  and  force  of 
argument :  "  If  a  persecuting  model  may  thus  be  copied  or  pleaded 
as  ample  palliation,  why  may  not  the  Church  of  England  refer  her 
accusers  to  the  persecutions  of  the  Church  of  Rome,  and  the  Church 
of  Rome  hers  to  the  persecutions  of  the  Pagans,  and  the  Pagans 
theirs  to  their  persecutions  of  each  other  7  "  —  Coit  on  Puritanism, 
p.  85. 


328  THE    PILGRIM. 

BESIDE  THE  COMMAND  OF  THE  BIBLE."  *  They  made 
the  acknowledgment  of  the  Bible  as  supreme  au 
thority  a  fundamental  principle  ;  the  State  as  well 
as  the  Church  was  founded  upon  it ;  but  they  left 
each  man  free  to  interpret  the  Bible  for  himself. 
They  required  no  relation  of  private  experiences,  no 
assent  to  special  articles  of  faith,  but  godly  living 
alone,  as  preliminaries  to  admission  into  the  church. 
They  were  friendly  to  all  sects,  not  excepting  the 
Quakers  and  Anabaptists ;  and  when  Roger  Wil 
liams  had  been  driven  from  Massachusetts,  Wins- 
low  sought  him  out  in  his  exile,  to  cheer  and 
comfort  him.  He  made  a  journey  from  Plymouth 
to  Providence,  to  take  him  by  the  hand.  "  That 
great  and  precious  soul,  Mr.  Win  slow,"  says  Wil 
liams,  "  melted  and  kindly  visited  me  at  Providence, 
and  pat  a  piece  of  gold  into  the  hands  of  my  wife 
for  our  supply."  f 

The  Massachusetts  Colony  came  over  nine  years 
later  than  the  Plymouth,  and  it  was  gathered  from 
an  entirely  different  class  of  people.  Its  leaders 
were  men  of  rank,  wealth,  and  legal  acquirements. 
They  were  descendants  of  earls,  gentlemen,  and 
lord  mayors.  At  the  time  they  came,  Puritanism 

*  Thatcher's  Plymouth,  p.  291. 

t  I  have  said  nothing  of  the  church  of  John  Lothrop,  which  settled 
early  in  West  Barnstablc,  and  became  a  constituent  part  of  the  Plym 
outh  Colony.  But  Lothrop  and  his  flock  were  also  refugees  from 
persecution ;  and  though  they  originated  in  a  different  part  of  Eng 
land  from  the  Plymouth  people,  they  were  of  a  like  temper  with 
them,  and  had  learned  the  same  lesson  from  adversity.  It  is  said  that 
most  of  them  came  originally  from  Kent. 


THE    PILGRIM.  329 

was  rising  rapidly  into  power  and  consideration  in 
England,  and  was  soon  to  overturn  the  throne. 
The  Massachusetts  Company  was  formed  in  Lon 
don,  and  men  who  were  "  large  proprietors  "  em 
barked  in  the  enterprise.  They  were  not  separatists 
from  the  Established  Church,  and  some  of  them  were 
in  full  communion  with  it.  They  came  from  amid 
the  refinements  and  comforts  of  English  life,  and 
had  never  been  schooled  in  poverty  and  persecution. 
They  had  high  notions  of  church  prerogative  and 
infallibility.  They  encountered  no  hardships  in  emi 
gration  which  can  be  compared  with  those  of  the 
Pilgrims,  but  came  over,  fifteen  hundred  in  a  year, 
bringing  their  wealth  with  them.  What  a  contrast 
have  we  here  with  the  humble  congregation  of 
Scrooby ! 

The  leader  of  the  Massachusetts  enterprise,  be 
fore  the  arrival  of  Winthrop,  was  John  Endicott, 
a  hard,  cruel,  and  persecuting  spirit,  and  the  com 
plete  opposite  of  William  Bradford.  Hence  the 
whole  bearing  and  temper  of  the  Massachusetts 
Colony  were  in  contrast  with  those  of  the  Plymouth, 
and  its  spirit  from  the  very  beginning  was  one  of 
persecution  and  intolerance.  The  Pilgrims  natu 
rally  looked  up  with  deference  to  the  Massachu 
setts  men,  and  the  only  time  when  they  swerved 
from  their  principles  was  when  they  followed  the 
evil  counsel  of  their  neighbors. 

This  was  in  1657  -  60,  when  the  excitement 
against  the  Quakers  ran  high  in  the  Massachu 
setts  Colony,  and  cruel  laws  were  enacted  against 
them.  Some  of  the  persecuted  sect  found  their 

28* 


330 


THE    PILGRIM. 


way  into  the  Plymouth  Colony,  and  letters  came 
down  from  Massachusetts,  urging  the  Pilgrim  set 
tlements  to  adopt  the  same  policy.  Prince  was 
Governor.  The  just  and  pious  Bradford  had  gone ; 
and,  with  few  exceptions,  the  first  generation  of  the 
Pilgrim  church  had  passed  away.  Some  of  the  mag 
istrates,  among  whom  appear  the  names  of  Allerton 
and  Cudworth,  rose  in  opposition  to  the  proposed 
measures.  But  they  were  overruled.  At  first  the 
Massachusetts  influence  prevailed.  Prince  yielded 
to  it,  and  the  odious  law  was  enacted.  But  the  re 
bound  was  sudden  and  universal  back  to  the  first 
tolerant  principles  of  the  Colony.  The  odious  law 
was  blotted  out,  the  discarded  magistrates  who  had 
opposed  it  were  restored  to  favor,  among  whom 
was  a  son  of  John  Robinson,  who  had  imbibed  the 
principles  of  the  Quakers.  No  blood  was  shed 
within  the  Plymouth  jurisdiction,  and  the  few  pun 
ishments  inflicted  were  more  for  contempt  of  court 
than  on  account  of  religious  opinion.  Tradition 
says,  that  in  all  these  controversies  the  patriarch  of 
Sursuit  was  on  the  liberal  side. 

The  early  legislation  of  the  Pilgrim  Colony  was 
statesmanlike,  just,  and  liberal.  Hardly  an  instance 
will  be  found  among  the  laws  on  the  Plymouth 
records  of  that  meddlesome  interference  with  private 
rights,  or  that  espionage  over  household  matters, 
that  disgraces  the  records  of  Massachusetts  and 
Connecticut.  No  code  of  "blue  laws"  was  ever 
enacted  by  the  Pilgrims.  An  enlightened  forecast, 
and  a  severe  and  practical  common  sense,  are  every 
where  apparent.  We  have  alluded  to  the  law  for 


THE    PILGRIM. 


331 


the  fine  or  the  flagellation  of  non-attendants  on 
public  worship ;  but  it  applied  only  to  "  lazy,  sloth 
ful,  or  profane  persons,"  who  were  sometimes  found 
hanging  about  the  infant  settlements,  to  corrupt  the 
morals  of  the  youth,  and  it  was  designed  to  put  them 
in  the  most  direct  way  for  a  better  course  of  life. 

In  all  their  dealings  with  the  Indians,  the  Pil 
grims  treated  them  as  men, —  not  as  Pagans  and 
Canaanites,  to  be  preyed  upon  by  God's  people ; 
and  they  scrupulously  observed  with  them  the  obli 
gations  of  humanity  and  justice.  Once,  in  the  ex 
tremity  of  hunger,  they  found  and  appropriated  a 
quantity  of  corn  that  belonged  to  the  natives,  but 
afterwards  took  the  earliest  opportunity  to  seek  out 
the  owners,  tell  them  what  they  had  done,  and  ren 
der  to  them  the  most  ample  remuneration.  If  any 
Englishman  wronged  the  red-man,  he  was  sure,  if 
found  out,  to  be  brought  to  punishment.  In  one  in 
stance,  three  men  who  had  robbed  and  murdered  an 
Indian,  and  who  came  back  to  Plymouth  for  protec 
tion  and  security,  were  apprehended,  tried,  and  sen 
tenced,  and  expiated  their  crime  upon  the  gallows. 
In  the  eye  of  the  Pilgrim,  every  man,  heathen  though 
he  was,  belonged  to  the  same  brotherhood  with 
himself,  and  had  equal  rights  and  immunities  before 
the  Eternal  Justice.  Such  a  case  of  shocking  bar 
barity  towards  the  Indian  as  may  be  found  detailed 
in  Savage's  Winthrop,*  and  which  Coit  cites  with 
much  point  in  his  attack  on  Puritanism,  could  never 
have  occurred  within  the  jurisdiction  of  Plymouth. 

*  Vol.  II.  pp.  130-134. 


332  THE    PILGRIM. 

The  Massachusetts  people  grounded  their  rights 
on  the  Charter,  and  on  their  prerogatives  as  English 
men,  or  as  God's  only  true  Church.  The  Plymouth 
people  derived  their  ideas  of  government  from  the 
inherent  rights  of  man.  To  the  latter  belongs  the 
undying  honor  of  originating  and  diffusing  the 
principles  of  Congregationalism  in  New  England, — 
the  doctrine  that  each  separate  church  is  complete 
in  itself,  is  responsible  to  no  synods  or  councils,  but 
to  Christ  alone.  Before  they  left  England,  and 
while  yet  in  the  humble  seclusion  of  Scrooby,  they 
"shook  off  the  yoke  of  Antichristian  bondage";  and 
they  pledged  themselves  to  each  other,  "  to  walk  in 
all  the  ways  of  the  Lord  made  known,  or  TO  BE 
MADE  KNOWN,  unto  them,  according  to  their  best 
endeavors."  *  Thus  from  Brewster's  old  mansion 
in  Nottinghamshire  they  brought  away  the  doctrine 
of  the  sacred  rights  of  the  human  mind.  No  church 
had  any  authority  over  it,  but  Christ  alone,  nor  could 
any  church  shut  out  from  its  own  members  the  light 
"  to  be  made  known,"  and  thus  deprive  them  of  a 
glorious  future,  —  living  doctrines  to  them,  strug 
gling  away  from  the  cold  prison  and  the  wintry 
night  of  prelacy  into  Christ's  free  Gospel,  which 
they  hailed  as  a  reviving  spring. 

These  doctrines  were  the  precious  freight  of  the 
Mayflower.  The  Massachusetts  men  brought  with 
them  no  such  principles.  They  had  not  separated 
from  the  Church  of  England,  and  they  fell  into  its 
intolerant  practices.  They  believed  in  the  highest 

*  Young's  Chronicles  of  the  Pilgrims,  p.  21. 


THE    PILGRIM.  333 

governmental  prerogatives,  both  in  the  Church  and 
the  State.  The  individual  was  of  no  account  before 
the  Juggernaut  of  Arbitrary  Power ;  and  the  eccle 
siastical  polity  of  Massachusetts  was  at  first,  in  point 
of  fact,  a  church  despotism  of  the  most  absolute 
kind.  A  good  many  others  besides  Roger  Wil 
liams  and  Ann  Hutchinson  found  out  this  to  their 
own  bitter  experience. 

The  spirit  of  the  Plymouth  men,  however,  in  some 
measure  diffused  itself  as  a  boon  of  priceless  value 
to  the  sister  colonies.  "  Some  of  the  chief  of  them," 
writes  Winslow,  "  advised  with  us  how  they  should 
do  to  fall  upon  a  right  platform  of  worship,  and  de 
sired  to  that  end,  since  God  had  honored  us  to  lay 
the  foundation  of  a  commonwealth,  and  to  settle  a 
church  in  it,  to  show  them  whereupon  our  practice 
was  grounded ;  and  if  they  found  upon  due  search 
it  was  built  upon  the  Word,  they  should  be  willing 
to  take  up  what  was  of  God.  We  accordingly 
showed  them  the  primitive  practice  for  our  warrant, 
taken  out  of  the  Acts  of  the  Apostles  and  the  Epis 
tles,  together  with  the  commandments  of  Christ  the 
Lord  in  the  Gospel,  and  our  other  warrants  in  every 
particular  we  did,  from  the  book  of  God.  Which 
being  by  them  well  weighed  and  considered,  they 
also  entered  into  covenant  with  God  and  one  an 
other  to  walk  in  all  his  ways  revealed,  or  as  they 
should  be  made  known  unto  them,  and  to  worship 
him  according  to  his  will  revealed  in  his  written 
word  only."  * 

*  Young's  Chronicles,  p.  386. 


334  THE    PILGRIM. 

In  nothing  do  the  Plymouth  men  appear  with 
more  honorable  distinction  than  in  their  freedom 
from  the  wretched  and  drivelling  superstitions 
which  afflicted  Massachusetts,  and  fixed  an  inef 
faceable  blot  upon  her  fame.  They  were  not  only 
men  of  piety  and  liberality,  but  of  that  broad  and 
clear  common  sense  which  secured  them  against 
the  delusions  of  their  day.  It  is  not  generally 
known  that  there  were  trials  for  witchcraft  in  the 
Old  Colony  also,  as  the  account  of  them  is  only 
found  reposing  in  her  ancient  records.  It  is  not  a 
record  that  she  has  reason  to  be  ashamed  of;  and 
one  of  her  sons  has  recently  searched  it  out  and 
held  it  up  as  a  specimen  of  Pilgrim  legislation,  on 
a  subject  that  requires  the  historian  of  Massachu 
setts  Bay  to  plead  "  the  ignorance  of  the  age." 
It  is  short,  but  pithy  and  to  the  point. 

In  1676,  Mary  Ingraham  was  tried  for  witchcraft, 
and  promptly  acquitted  by  a  jury  of  twelve  men. 
But  sixteen  years  before,  there  was  a  trial  which 
exhibits  yet  more  signally  the  beauty  of  justice 
as  it  was  administered  in  the  Old  Colony.  In  1660, 
Dinah  Silvester,  of  Bcituate,  accused  the  wife  of 
William  Homes  of  being  a  witch.  An  examina 
tion  is  held,  and  Dinah  is  produced  as  a  witness. 
We  condense  the  account,  and  give  the  substance 
of  it. 

Court.  You  say  that  William  Homes's  wife  is 
a  witch.  What  evidence  have  you  of  the  fact  ? 

Dinah.     She  appeared  to  me  as  a  witch. 

Court.     In  what  shape  ? 

Dinah.     In  the  shape  of  a  bear,  your  honor. 


THE    PILGRIM.  335 

Court.     How  far  off  was  the  bear  ? 

Dinah.     About  a  stone's  throw  from  the  highway. 

Court.     What  manner  of  tail  did  the  bear  have  ? 

Dinah.  I  cannot  tell,  your  honor,  as  his  head 
was  towards  me. 

Court.  Let  this  examination  be  recorded  for  the 
clearing  of  William  Homes's  wife.  Ordered,  THAT 
DINAH  SILVESTER  BE  PUBLICLY  WHIPPED,  or  else 
pay  the  sum  of  five  pounds  to  William  Homes. 
Or  in  case  the  said  Dinah  make  a  public  acknowl 
edgment  of  her  crime,  she  shall  only  pay  William 
Homes  the  charge  he  has  been  at. 

And  then  follows  the  acknowledgment  of  Dinah 
Silvester,  that  her  accusation  was  false  and  mali 
cious.* 

Such  in  the  Pilgrim  courts  was  the  summary 
disposition  of  a  matter  which,  with  precisely  the 
same  beginnings,  in  the  sister  Colony  went  on  till 
it  involved  the  whole  community  in  a  contagious 
fanaticism,  turned  the  wits  of  the  clergy  and  the 
lawyers,  and  doomed  twenty  innocent  men  and 
women  to  a  horrible  death.  The  "  ignorance  of 
the  age,"  which  lay  like  an  Egyptian  night  on  the 
fields  of  Massachusetts,  did  not  even  for  a  moment 
obstruct  the  sun's  clear  shining  on  the  sand-hills 
around  Plymouth  Bay. 

The  transactions  at  Salem  are  generally  excused 
on  the  ground  that  the  age  believed  in  the  reality 
of  witchcraft.  Indeed!  and  so  does  every  age, 
though  the  form  of  the  belief  may  be  somewhat 

*  The  account  of  these  trials  may  be  found  in  the  books  of  "  Pub 
lic  Records,"  kept  in  the  Court-House  at  Plymouth. 


336  THE    PILGRIM. 

variant.  Its  vital  element  was  the  idea  of  an  in 
fernal  world  in  such  proximity  to  the  natural  tlmt 
it  had  the  power  of  projecting  its  sorceries  into  the 
minds  of  men  and  women  who  were  willing  to  re 
ceive  and  entertain  them,*  —  an  article  of  faith 
cherished  as  extensively  now,  perhaps,  as  it  was 
in  the  days  of  the  fathers.  The  Plymouth  people 
held  it,  and  passed  a  law  which  made  "  solemn 
compaction  or  conversing  with  the  Devil  by  way 
of  witchcraft  or  the  like  "  a  capital  crime.  But  the 
difference  between  them  and  their  neighbors  of 
Massachusetts  Bay  was  this,  —  that,  when  a  case 
presented  itself  for  trial,  the  former  applied  to  it  the 
wisest  rules  of  evidence  and  the  most  enlightened 
principles  of  common  sense  ;  the  latter  outraged 
all  the  rules  of  evidence  and  all  common  sense,  and 
so  plunged  without  chart  or  compass  into  the  most 
hideous  and  bewildering  superstitions. 

In  these  remarks,  we  mean  no  disrespect  or  dis 
loyalty  towards  Massachusetts.  We  mean  simply 
to  rescue  the  name  of  the  Pilgrim  from  an  odium 
that  does  not  belong  to  it,  and,  so  far  as  we  are 
humbly  concerned,  to  place  it  before  the  world  in 
that  meek  but  unstained  and  immortal  lustre  which 
is  all  its  own. 

The  Plymouth  Colony,  comprising  the  Pilgrim 
church,  with  her  several  daughters  about  her,  was 

*  Consult  Cudworth  on  Sorcery,  Intellectual  System,  Book  I. 
Chap.  IV.,  and  especially  Mosheim's  notes.  Augustine  rcganlnl 
thcurgists  and  sorcerers  as  "  deluded  by  the  fallacious  rites  of  de 
mons  under  the  name  of  angels,"  —  a  belief  in  harmony  with  his 
whole  system  of  theology  and  pneumatology. 


THE    PILGRIM.  337 

"swallowed  alive  by  Massachusetts"  in  1692.  It 
had  an  independent  existence  of  only  seventy-one 
years.  It  was  merged  in  Massachusetts  against 
its  own  will.  But  to  this  day  the  Pilgrim  blood 
flows  with  less  foreign  intermixture  than  elsewhere 
through  the  veins  of  the  people  of  the  Cape ;  and 
in  tolerant  principles,  genial  spirit,  and  generous 
bearing,  in  religion  without  bigotry,  and  faith 
warm  with  the  ardors  of  charity,  may  be  traced, 
after  two  hundred  years,  some  moral  lineaments 
of  the  Scrooby  congregation. 


UNIVERSITY 


29 


NOTE. 


I  GIVE  here  a  specimen  of  the  skeletons  I  have  attempted  to 
galvanize.  The  following  items  are  taken  principally  from 
Burke's  "Visitation  of  Seats  and  Arms  in  Great  Britain  and 
Ireland,"  and  from  private  records  and  documents  preserved  in 
a  family  of  the  Old  Colony. 

A  great  many  disconnected  facts,  and  names  which  stand  in 
broken  lineage,  occur  in  the  early  English  annals,  but  the  ances 
tor  of  the  Colchester  Sayers,  whose  fortunes  have  been  described 
in  the  preceding  pages,  was  Adam  Sayer,  who  died  possessed  of 
the  manor  of  Hougham,  near  Rochester,  in  the  county  of  Kent, 
in  1346.  He  had  a  son,  who  was  returned  to  serve  in  Parlia 
ment  in  the  reign  of  Henry  VI.,  and  a  grandson  who  was  created 
a  Banneret  by  Henry  VII.  after  the  battle  of  Stoke  in  1487. 
But  the  first  name  among  his  descendants  that  stands  at  the 
head  of  an  unbroken  line  is  that  of 

1.  John  Sayer  of  Colchester,  alderman  of  that  city,  a  man  of 
considerable  wealth  and  dignity,  who  died  in  1509,  and  was  bur 
ied  in  St.  Peter's  Church  under  the  south  aisle, —  a  mural  brass 
memorial  recording,  in  Old  English  letters,  his  name  and  honors. 
At  what  time  the  Sayers  removed  from  Kent  to  Colchester  does 
not  appear,  but  long  before  the  above  date  they  had  held  the 
highest  offices  in  the  corporation  of  that  city,  and  exerted  an 
extensive  influence  in  its  affairs.     John  Sayer  left  three  sons, 
viz. :  — 

2.  John,  Eobert,  and   George.     The  eldest  of  these,  John, 
died  in  1562,  and  was  buried  near  his  father,  with  a  similar  brass 
memorial.     He  left  two  sons,  viz. :  — 

3.  Richard  and  George.     Richard  was  born  at  Colchester  in 


340  NOTE. 

1508,  and  married  Anne  Bourcliier,  daughter  of  Sir  Edmund 
Knyvet  of  Ashweltliorpe,  in  the  county  of  Norfolk.  It  was 
during  the  time  of  Richard  Sayer  that  religious  animosities  and 
persecutions  attained  their  height,  excited  by  the  violence  of 
Henry  VIII.  Richard  became  a  warm  and  zealous  partisan  on 
the  side  opposed  to  his  own  relatives,  as  well  as  the  existing  gov 
ernment,  and  found  it  necessary  to  escape  with  his  wife  and  oth 
er  refugees  into  Holland,  where  he  settled  at  Amsterdam,  in  1540. 
The  lot  of  his  wife  —  the  noble  Lady  Anne — was  a  hard  one,  but 
bravely  and  cheerfully  borne.  Because  she  took  the  side  of  her 
husband,  and  clung  to  him  in  adversity,  she  incurred  the  lasting 
displeasure  of  the  Knyvets.  Her  father  seems  to  have  become 
so  bitterly  estranged  from  her  as  to  erase  her  name  from  all  his 
family  records,  that  she  might  be  forgotten.  He  regarded  her 
in  fact  as  if  dead,  and  gave  her  name,  Anne,  to  a  younger 
daughter  while  she  was  yet  living.  The  exiled  and  persecuted 
woman  long  survived  her  husband,  living  in  Amsterdam  in  charge 
of  her  orphan  boy. 

George,  in  consequence  of  Richard's  flight,  secured  for  himself 
possession  of  the  patrimonial  inheritance.  There  was  a  long  and 
bitter  controversy  for  the  ancient  estate  between  him  and  his 
heirs  on  the  one  hand,  and  Richard's  heirs  on  the  other,  ending 
in  total  alienation  and  non-intercourse.  George  died  in  1577, 
and  was  buried  with  his  ancestors  in  St.  Peter's  Church,  Colches 
ter.  A  beautiful  marble  monument  erected  to  his  memory  in  the 
south  side  of  the  chancel  bears  a  quaint  epitaph,  which  has  re 
mote  allusions  to  the  family  controversy.  The  first  portion  of  it 
is  as  follows  :  — 

"  O  happier  Sayer  that  here  in  grave  doth  lie, 
Whose  body  resteth  now  in  Earth,  whose  ghost  with  Christ  on  high, 
His  youthfull  race  he  ran  with  travayle  and  with  troth, 
His  middle  and  his  aged  years  with  wealth  and  worship  both  ; 
Full  thirty  years  or  more,  cheef  rule  or  place  he  bare 
In  this  his  native  ancient  town  whereof  he  had  great  care  ; 
"With  justice  he  did  rule,  and  eke  with  mercy  mylde, 
With  love  he  lyved  many  years  of  man,  woman,  and  child. 
A  monument  he  made,  for  ever  to  remain, 
For  ayde  to  poor  and  aged  wights  which  are  oppressed  with  payne." 


NOTE.  341 

The  "  poor  and  aged  wights  "  seem  to  have  got  a  little  of  the 
patrimony  which  belonged  of  right  to  his  injured  brother,  —  not 
an  unusual  expedient  which  some  people  have  in  this  world  for 
getting  on  in  the  way  to  heaven. 

The  flight  of  Richard  was  in  1537.  There  is  a  single  anachro 
nism  in  the  text  of  Part  II.,  which,  though  slight,  ought  to  be  men 
tioned.  Richard  is  there  made  a  witness  to  the  scene  of  Father 
Bache's  execution.  Father  Bache  was  not,  in  fact,  executed  un 
til  about  a  year  after  Richard  left  the  country.  The  execution 
then  took  place  precisely  as  related,  it  being  anticipated  a  little 
in  the  narrative,  to  make  the  picture  more  complete. 

Richard  the  exile  left  an  only  son,  viz. :  — 

4.  John  Bourchier  Sayer.     He  became,  at  the  death  of  his 
grandfather,  heir  to  the  family  estates  m  Essex.     But  the  same 
difficulties  that  forced  his  father  to  quit  England  still  existed,  and 
he  was  excluded  from  the  succession.     He  was  of  a  bold  and  ad 
venturous  disposition,  and  sought  renown  by  his  own  exertions. 
He  fell  in  with  Sir  John  Hawkins,  the  distinguished  navigator, 
obtained  his  confidence,  accompanied  him  in  many  of  his  voyages, 
and  obtained  the  hand  of  his  daughter  "  Bess."    He  lived  through 
the  trying  times  of  the  war  in  the  Netherlands,  in  which  he  is 
said  to  have  taken  a  part.    He  died  in  Holland,  leaving  by  Eliz 
abeth  Hawkins,  his  wife,  four  sons,  viz. :  — 

5.  John  Bourchier,  Henry,  William,  and  Richard.     The  first 
married  Maria  L.,  daughter  of  Philip  Lamoral  van  Egmond,  and 
acquired  with  her  a  large  fortune,  principally  in  money. 

The  family  papers  assume  that  this  Philip  L.  van  Egmond  was 
the  son  of  the  murdered  Count  Egmond,  the  victim  of  Alva.  The 
Count  had  a  son  of  that  name,  who  fell  at  the  battle  of  Ivry. 
There  is  reason,  however,  to  believe  that  the  father-in-law  of 
Sayer  was  another  Philip,  belonging  to  another  branch  of  the 
Egmond  family. 

This  John  Bourchier  Sayer  purchased  with  his  wife's  fortune 
property  in  England,  adjoining  the  patrimonial  lands  which  he 
hoped  to  recover.  But  his  return  to  England  was  resisted  stout 
ly  by  his  kinsfolk  there,  who  charged  him  with  participation  in 
the  "  Gunpowder  Plot,"  and  threatened  him  with  a  trial  for 
treason  should  he  set  foot  in  England.  He  wrote  them  a  long 


342  NOTE. 

letter,  -which  closed  the  controversy.  The  letter  was  extant  not  a 
great  many  years  since  among  the  family  papers,  and  was  spoken 
of  by  those  who  had  seen  it  as  remarkably  able  and  excellent. 
He  died  in  Holland  in  1629.  By  Maria  L.  van  Egmond,  his 
wife,  he  left  two  sons,  viz. :  — 

6.  Richard  and  John.  John  went  to  England  ;  Richard,  dis 
gusted  with  the  ancestral  controversy,  and  sick  of  the  distrac 
tions  of  the  times,  —  for  the  Calvinist  war  in  Holland  was  at  its 
height,  — joined  Robinson's  congregation,  and  embarked  his  for 
tune  with  the  Pilgrims.  The  likeness  which  fronts  the  title-page 
of  a  private  edition  of  this  work  was  copied  originally  from  a 
portrait  in  the  gallery  of  the  Egmond  family  in  Amsterdam. 


THE    END. 


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